


Why Not?

by madscientist1313



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Feels, Divorce, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Parent Bucky Barnes, Parenthood, Romance, Slow Burn, dad!bucky, mechanicAU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madscientist1313/pseuds/madscientist1313
Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not? (Mechanic!AU)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 25
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge on Tumblr, this prompt - Bucky mechanic!AU - kind of took on a life of its own...

It’s late summer when the utterly recognizable Tony Stark first rolls up to the shop, driving in a blindingly white 1953 Corvette convertible… top down, rusty-red leather interior looking warm and lush bathed in the early morning sun. “Supposed to be one of the first off the line,” he tells Bucky, hopping out of the car and slamming the door just hard enough to make him flinch. “That’s what my dad said anyway. Pretty sure he loved the damn thing more than he loved me.” 

Bucky’s jaw nearly hits the floor, breath catching in his chest as he steps outside the wide-open garage door to take a look. Drool practically drips from his lips onto the pristine white paint job, his eyes narrowing to slits at the glare off of the stainless trim. It is… perfect. Until he steps around to the passenger’s side and sees the damage. 

“Yeah,” Stark intones casually, not seeming at all embarrassed about the foot-long dent that runs the length of the door. “Minor parallel parking incident. You know how crazy things can get in upper Manhattan during rush hour.”

Bucky’s speechless. And a bit disgusted. And also _unbelievably_ hesitant. “I… we’re not… I mean…” He lets his fingers gingerly press into the body to further inspect the damage, feeling the splintered paint, jagged, naked fiberglass beneath. “We do body work here, but… this is a different kind of beast altogether.”

The man simply stares at him, sunglass-cloaked eyes burrowing into him in an unsettling sort of assessment as his right foot – no doubt wearing a shoe that cost more than Bucky’s entire wardrobe – begins tapping out an impatient rhythm. “My assistant said I should come here. She said you could handle it.” He drops his glasses down just a bit, just enough to be able to peer over the tops of them at the still-reticent mechanic. He steps closer and leans in, reads the nametag standing out in bright white atop his pale blue shirt. “Bucky,” he reads aloud, rolling the name on his tongue. Then, one suspicious brow raised, “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, jaw tensing, steeling himself for what’s to come. This wouldn’t be the first time some tool in a three-piece suit came in here and made fun of his name, talked down to him like he was nothing more than, well, some dumb mechanic.

The man’s shoulders draw up, pulling him into a proud stance, and he cocks his head again, this time in the other direction. Bucky feels the rest of his body tense up now too, certain that he’s somehow being… inspected by this stranger. Tony circles him slowly, stopping once he drops into the shade of the building. He takes a step back and leans into the brick façade, pulls his glasses off and wipes them clean with a freaking pocket square. “You married, Bucky?” he asks, staring down at his glasses.

Bucky barely moves, simply quirking a brow in the man’s direction. “Why? You proposing?”

He lets out a bright, high-pitched scoff. “You wish. I could give you everything you ever wanted and then some.”

“Because you have money? Didn’t anyone ever tell you money can’t buy happiness?”

Another scoff, this one deep and throaty and chased out by a dramatic roll of his eyes. “It certainly helps.” Tony’s gaze ticks over to Bucky’s left hand. “No ring,” he muses vaguely.

“Yeah, well, I got it caught in fan belt a few years back. Almost took off my whole damn hand.”

“Ah, so you are married,” he intones, the inflection revealing… is it relief? Or is it disappointment? 

“Divorced,” he corrects, still caught up in this strange and sudden stare down. “Mr. Stark,” he tries finally, only to get shut down by a flippant hand waving through the air.

“Look, I got a lot going on today. I really don’t want to have to drive across town to some other garage. So…” He tosses the keys up into the air, landing them perfectly in Bucky’s open palm with a delicate clink. “Just… do what you can.”

He stands – stunned – for a long moment, unsure quite what to do as he watches the man retreat to the street and climb into a waiting limo. The entire interaction takes less than five minutes. Yet it feels… strange, certainly, but also somehow… weighty. Like meeting Tony Stark on this random August day, rolling these unfamiliar keys in his hand as he stands beneath the blaring hot sun _means_ something. 

He startles back to reality only once a heavy hand falls to his shoulder, Steve’s voice settling in his ear. “Was that…”

He nods, pulls in a deep and grounding breath – “Are all rich people… nuts?” – and turns to face his friend and business partner. 

Steve simply shrugs. “Couldn’t tell ya… you’re the richest guy I know, and that’s just because you haven’t put in your half of the rent yet.” 

000

They see a lot of Tony Stark over the next few weeks. At first, he stops by just to check in on the Vette, making it a point to slink into the garage first thing every morning until the job is finally done. Bucky assumes – once the ridiculously generous check is in his hand and the car is backed out of the shop – that they’ve seen the last of the man. But not two days later, he shows up with a 1932 Ford Roadster – nothing wrong with it, just thought they might like to see. And the following week he brings in his _first_ Ferrari – a gift for his twenty-first birthday – to have the _tires_ _rotated._

Each and every time he stops in, Bucky gets the distinct feeling that he’s being somehow scrutinized by the man, dissected… thoroughly sussed out. He’s not quite sure why… perhaps it’s the barrage of – seemingly conversational – _personal_ questions. Or maybe it’s the way he wanders around the garage, touching everything, _inspecting_ everything. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t ask anything of Steve the few times he pops out of the office to say hi, doesn’t interrogate him, nor really interact with him at all, his focus remaining wholly on Bucky.

It’s all very… odd. And unsettling. And if it weren’t for the fact that he lays down three times what the job is worth every time he brings in a car for some sort of unnecessary maintenance, Bucky would tell the man to take his creepy inquisition and hit the bricks.

But they’ve made almost five grand off of him in the last three weeks, and if he tells him to get lost, he’s pretty sure that Steve will castrate him with a zip saw. Truth be told, he’s on the verge of taking that chance, steeling himself to confront the eccentric billionaire when he sees the limo pull up _yet again_ , cursing under his breath for a long moment before stepping outside to open up the garage doors. 

Then he sees it, bright and gleaming in the burning hot sun as Stark whips around the corner and flies up into the bay, slamming on the parking brake before hopping out in a single deft move and leaning his hip onto the dark green door, smirk washing over his already rather smug face. 

He gives him the basic backstory – _upgraded rims and a new top, but otherwise an original… only 8,000 miles… one of just about thirty in existence_. 

But Bucky couldn’t care less about the _words_ coming out of his mouth. And frankly, he doesn’t give a shit what kinds of questions or curious stares he’s about to receive from the grand inquisitor either. Maybe today they’ll get into his failed marriage, or that time he got arrested for assault. Or, hell, he’d even be willing to answer questions about his emo phase freshman year in high school. It’s all on the table. Stark can hang out and badger him all damn day if he wants, just as long as he lets him _touch_ the spectacular specimen before him. He rounds the corner of the counter, certain that his jaw is dragging on the floor – and not giving a damn – and he steps forward towards the absolutely _cherry_ 1965 Shelby Cobra 427. Un-be-livable. This… this is… 

“This is a million-dollar car,” Bucky stutters out, his fingers lingering hesitantly over the hood, too nervous to even let them graze the body.

“More like 1.8 million,” he corrects with a shrug. “Could use a tune up.”

“A tune up? Are you crazy? Listen, there are people,” he starts, halting suddenly when a loud thump – followed quickly by a high-pitched squeal of laughter – sounds from the office in back. His head spins so fast, his neck cracks with the movement. But he quickly settles upon seeing Steve pop up into view on the other side of the plate glass window only to shoot him a swift thumbs up. Bucky shakes his head distractedly and turns back to Tony. “There are people way better equipped to handle this than me.”

Tony issues out a short _psh_ , waving a dismissive hand through the air as he impatiently shifts from foot to foot. “You’ll be fine. I have faith in you.”

“I don’t know _why_ ,” he says with a snort, sneaking another lingering, sidelong glance at the car. He clears his throat harshly and turns back to Tony. “Mr. Stark, I don’t know that this shop even has enough insurance coverage to _allow_ me to work on this car.”

“I could’ve sworn I told you to call me Tony,” he says, beginning his all-too-common practice of milling about the garage, absently touching things, picking up tools only to immediately drop them back into place. “Anyway,” he mutters, holding up a torque wrench and glaring at it as though the tool had personally insulted him. He throws it back onto the counter with a huff and faces Bucky once again. “I thought you were the owner,” he hisses out, words full of pure incredulity. “You and…” he waves a hand back at the blond man still lurking in the office. “Mr. Perfect back there.”

A look of utter bewilderment rolls across his face. “Well, yeah… but…”

“ _But_ nothing. Half the reason I _own_ so many businesses,” he pauses for a beat, pursing his lips and looking down at the dark green beauty in front of him, “and _things_ , is because I like doing what _I like doing_.” His eyes ping back up to meet Bucky’s, holding them tight in a sincere stare. “What do you _like_ , Bucky?”

Silence. He says nothing, merely stares blankly at the man before him.

Tony rolls his eyes. “You like fixing million-dollar cars?”

Bucky shrugs. “Never really done it. That’s kind of my point.”

His deep brown eyes narrow suspiciously, head cocking to the side just the slightest bit. Then he drops a firm hand to Bucky’s shoulder and chuckles. “Nah, you like it.” He tosses him the keys – a very clear _end of conversation_ – and turns to leave, his unofficial driver waiting out front in the limo. “Anyway, it’s… sticking a bit,” he says, waving his hand carelessly through the air as he walks backwards toward the garage door. “Just… take a look. And… I want you to know, I’m trusting you with something _very important_ here. Don’t screw it up.” And with that, he turns and leaves.

Bucky stands painfully still, wide-eyed stare directed out the door long after Tony’s already begun his retreat back to his side of the city.

“Is that…?” 

He spins on a heel, finding Steve bent over the Cobra, delicately grazing his fingers atop the windshield in much the same way Bucky had cautiously – _reverently_ – done just moments ago. “Yeah,” he answers, not needing to hear the rest of the question, those words lost in the same stunned fog he feels himself still wading through.

“This isn’t a replica,” Steve hisses out, eyes blowing wide as he tosses a glance Bucky’s way. He’s met with a slow headshake, a rather disbelieving confirmation. “This is… it’s original?” A simple, slow nod. “Semi-Competition? This…” He straightens, pulling his shoulders back as he stands upright, letting out a long, low whistle. “I know everybody says he’s… eccentric. But…” He raises a brow, wide, crooked smile rolling over his features. “He’s really gonna trust _you_ with this?”

Bucky reaches up and scratches at the back of his head, a rather confounded expression creeping over his face. “Seems like.”

The two men continue to stand, silently staring at the little convertible in front of them. A masterpiece. A legend. The wet dream of any car enthusiast. It’s amazing. Glorious. Perfect. And…

“No!” Bucky shouts, the sudden bellow pulling deep from his chest as he lunges forward just in time to stop the tiny, sticky, chocolate-covered tornado racing towards the work of art. Steve hops back as Bucky grabs the little girl, narrowly avoiding a tiny foot to the groin, when he swings her round and hauls her up into his arms. He spins her in his grip so that she’s facing him – wide-eyed smile and fat cheeks alight as raucous giggles spill out of her – and he raises a serious, commanding brow. “Do. Not. Touch.”

He adjusts the tyke on his hip, settling her into the crook of his left arm as he pulls a cloth from his pocket and begins roughly wiping at the melted streaks of chocolate on her face. She wiggles in his grip and pushes against his chest with a whiny groan, leaning away to see the car that Uncle Steve is so fondly caressing. “Pretty,” she croons, spitting messily around the cloth as he continues to drag it across her chin and lips.

“No more long johns for breakfast,” he declares, shifting to try and juggle her wiggly form with the rag so he can get at her hands.

“What’s a donut without chocolate icing?” Steve asks lightly, finally stepping over to help. He plucks a clean rag from the countertop and finishes wiping her down. “You are a _mess_.”

Bucky gives her a little bounce and looks at Steve with an almost chiding glare. “Yeah, well, _you_ are a shitty babysitter.”

“Says the guy who just cursed in front of a four year old,” he counters with a smug smirk.

Bucky’s face hardens and sets into a scowl. “I’m not a babysitter. I’m her father. Different standard.” 

“Shitty!” the little girl sings out gleefully, following it up with a wide-eyed, “Uh-oh,” upon seeing Bucky’s stare, his single, reprimanding brow raised high.

He shifts her to his other side, pulling away from Steve and sidestepping him to move over to the front of the Cobra. The austere set to his features quickly fades as dark curls bounce in his periphery and small hands clamp together behind his neck. 

“What d’ya say, baby? Should we pop the hood?” he croons to the little girl in his grip, giving her a few swift bounces until her face splits with delight. “Yeah,” he mutters, swiping his fingers lazily over the front end of the car. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”


	2. Chapter Two

“We just want to check the throttle shafts,” Bucky murmurs, bent low and looming over her tiny shoulder, pointing at the carburetor. “See? Right here. See that groove in it?” He cocks his head to watch her as she closely investigates, bright blue eyes a mirror of his own as they narrow, searching for the divot. A hint of her bubblegum tongue peeks out from the corner of her mouth as she tries to find the elusive mark. He feels a sudden swell of warmth collect in his center – in his chest, where this precious little girl lives, forever entwined with his heart – and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a crooked grin.

She nods firmly, one single, definitive bob of her head. “Yep.”

He pulls upright, dropping a steadying hand to her back as she leans even closer to get a better look. “ _That_ is our problem.”

“Oooh,” she breathes out, tone utterly genuine.

He takes a step back and watches as she gingerly pokes at the carb, careful not press too hard with her perfectly pudgy forefinger. And again he smiles, crooked and wistful, as he thinks back to the very first thing his father ever taught _him_ about cars – and damn was there a lot that the old man had taught him. It was how to clean the carburetor. He was nine, maybe ten years old. And since that time he’d cleaned out, rebuilt, and replaced _hundreds_ of carbs.

Of course, most of today’s cars are different beasts altogether, fuel-injection engines taking over and all but eliminating the pleasant pastime of solving puzzles like this. Nowadays it seems like he barely gets to _solve_ anything at all. With a million and a half electronic sensors over every inch of every vehicle, always spinning out error codes and warnings, most of his time at the shop is spent plugging in a computer to read an error and then ordering some ridiculously expensive new sensor for a pain-in-the-ass repair that _should_ take little more than twenty minutes, yet somehow takes up the whole damn day because some genius engineer decided to bury the tiny damn sensor under a dozen other damn parts that are damn near impossible to remove!

If Bucky had a dollar – even just one measly little dollar – for every time he chucked a tool and stormed off in frustration when working on some Mercedes or Audi or other _fancy_ piece-of-shit car, well, he’d be able to buy Steve out of his half of the garage.

He’s pulled suddenly from his wandering reverie by the steady tap-tap of hard-soled shoes on the concrete floor. He straightens quickly, tearing his eyes away from his little girl just long enough to catch a glimpse of the woman approaching.

A subtle, _ahem_ falls from her lips, followed by an almost nervous sounding, “Oh, hi,” when she sees him peek out from behind the car. “Hi.”

Bucky recognizes the woman immediately, despite the form-fitted suit and classy looking heels she’s wearing in lieu of her more typical cutoff shorts and T-shirt. “Hey,” he says, wide grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Bronco, right?”

She nods, bright smile splitting her face and setting off the deep dimples that he – for some inexplicable reason – _remembered_ resided on either side of that pretty, full-lipped mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, you remember me?”

“Course,” he says with a nod of his own, his hand falling down to the shoulder of the little girl beside him, tugging her back a bit as she pitches forward on her stool and nearly topples into the engine compartment. “’75 Bronco wagon,” he announces, casually righting the kid and holding her steady without ever taking his eyes off of the woman. “Don’t see many of those around. Especially in the city.”

Her expression falters just a bit at the realization that he remembers her _car_ more so than her. But she recovers quickly, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder and stating simply, “Yeah, that’s my baby.”

He frowns suddenly, quickly wiping down his hands and stepping around the car to approach her. “Something wrong? Everything looked good when we did the oil change a few weeks back.”

“Oh,” she nearly exclaims. “Yeah. No. I’m… I’m not here for…” She steps closer, her fingers lazily trailing along the side of the Cobra, eyes ticking down to her feet as her cheeks gain a peculiar rosy blush. “I’m Mr. Stark’s personal assistant.” She reaches out a hand as though prepared to shake – as though they hadn’t already met before… over a blown-out tire, some rusted paneling, a busted transmission, and an oil change that she damn well could’ve done herself. “Annie.”

His eyes linger on her outstretched hand for a long moment before finally accepting the greeting. “Annie, huh?” he asks, kicking himself for not knowing that already, for having somehow committed her face to memory – and her car – but not her name.

She sputters nervously for a beat, about to correct herself – _Angela_ – mentally tearing herself a new one for using her childhood nickname instead of the _adult_ moniker that a _woman_ should go by, when a scuffle and a squeal sound from behind the hood of the car as the little girl awkwardly hops down from her stool, shouting at a rather piercing level, “I’m Lana!”

Bucky steps back and grabs her by the arms to steady her and settle her on the firm ground, nudging the wobbling stool to keep it from tipping. He shakes his head fondly as she scurries over to the woman, bouncing on her heels in front of her.

Annie’s face seems to light up, her bright green eyes going wide and crinkling at the corners as she drops down to the four year old’s level. “Lana, well it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, extending her hand for a shake.

The girl accepts, dark ringlets bouncing in time with the body-quaking handshake she offers. And the corners of Bucky’s lips inadvertently tick up.

“Lana,” Annie repeats languidly, letting the two syllables dance over her tongue. “What a beautiful name.” The little girl lets out another giggle and releases her hand, hopping away, back to her father’s side. Annie watches her go for a moment, still grinning sunnily, before rising and slinking around the car, lazily tracing a finger over the fenders until she gets to the front and peeks under the hood. “How’s she coming along?”

“Not bad,” Bucky breathes out as he leans back and wipes his hands on a rag. “Think we might need to replace the throttle shafts. Right, baby?” he asks, glancing down at the kid by his side and giving her a little bump with his hip.

She hops back to avoid the hip check and gives her father a pointed _don’t do that_ glare, the look being almost identical to the one he’s received on countless occasions from her mother. He stifles a laugh and rolls his eyes, ticking his chin at her to indicate that he’s still waiting on a response. She heaves a giant sigh and gives a definitive nod, lips tightly pursed, brow slightly furrowed. “Yes,” she states, very matter-of-factly before returning her gaze to the woman now reaching into the engine compartment.

“It’ll probably just be another day or two,” he tells her. “We should have everything I need, but I still want to check out the turbo.” He bends down, dropping a knee to take a quick glance beneath the car. “And I’d like to get her up to take a look at the suspension.”

“As long as you can get her driving like she used to,” she says. She looks down at him for a brief moment before her eyes narrow and tick to the side, a rather mirthful glow filling them to the brim.

Before he can turn to catch a glimpse of what she’s looking at, tiny arms attack him from behind, his little girl throwing herself into his back – from a full run, he’s sure – and gripping tightly around his neck. He pitches forward, awkwardly catching himself with one hand while his other moves to loosen her fingers and free his windpipe. Maniacal giggles echo in his ear, but all he can see is the bright, gentle smile of the woman standing above him.

He clears his throat once Lana’s grip slackens and reaches around to hoist his baby higher on his back, standing effortlessly and letting out a single rich laugh when her giggles turn to a swift shriek of excitement. She lets out a small _oof_ and settles her arms around his shoulders, curling her warm body around him. “Sorry,” he murmurs, a bit bashfully. “There was an _incident_ at daycare. We don’t usually let little monsters run free around here.”

Annie bites back a laugh, actually chewing the corner of her mouth to do so, and says simply, “I wondered why we hadn’t met before.”

He cocks his head at the woman, only just now registering what she had said about the car a moment ago. “You drove this?” he asks her, his voice carrying a hint of surprise as he casually bounces in place to keep his monkey-girl amused.

She chuckles lightly as she watches the little girl’s face continue to shine. “Yeah,” she breathes out. “Got a soft spot in my heart for Mustangs. We’re a Ford family.” Her eyes flicker over to meet Bucky’s. “My dad had one… a ’67 Shelby GT.”

“Ooo,” he intones with a hiss. “Nice.”

“Yeah. We restored it together. He’s still got her, though she’s _trapped_ in his garage,” she says with a frightful countenance as she looks over at Lana and successfully pulls a giggle.

Bucky gives his girl another bounce and cranes his neck to look behind him. “Wanna tell her what’s living out back in our garage right now?”

She shoots her head out from behind her father’s, giant toothy grin on her face as she states proudly, “Stingray. 19…” Her voice fades off as she gives a dismissive shrug.

“68,” he supplies.

“Wow,” Annie responds, drawing out the word and nodding appreciatively, never taking her eyes off of the little girl’s satisfied face. “You’re _really_ lucky.”

“Well,” Bucky starts, self-deprecating smirk blooming, “it’s not exactly – ”

“Lana!” cuts him off mid-thought, the call tumbling in from the back bay. Bucky spins to see Peter hopping towards them, goofy smile on the disheveled teen’s face as he approaches. “Hey,” he says, locking onto the little girl’s eyes as she peeks out over her dad’s head. “It’s lunch time. I thought you were gonna eat with me.”

She twists and tugs in an attempt to scurry off her father’s back, and he grunts out a, “Wait,” as he awkwardly dips to lower her to the floor. “Pete,” he mutters, standing back up and glancing at the kid. “How’s the Mazda going?”

“Oh, fine, Mr. Barnes,” he declares simply, giving a small nod as Lana takes a firm hold of his hand.

“Pete- _er_ ,” she corrects haughtily. “There’s a _er_ , Daddy.” She tugs and pulls at Peter until he relents and lets her drag him over to her new friend. “That’s Annie.”

“Hi, Annie,” he says with a grin and a wave.

“She’s Stark’s assistant,” Bucky mutters with a raised brow.

“Oh, wow,” he intones, countenance lost somewhere between shock and intrigue. “That must be… something.”

She shrugs. “Sometimes it’s hell. Sometimes… heaven.”

“Pete,” Bucky starts before staring his little girl down and tacking on the, “ _er_ … wants to work for your boss someday.”

“Well, I mean… yeah…” the kids stutters out. “You know… maybe… I mean…”

Bucky chuckles lightly, catching a glimpse of the boy’s bright pink cheeks from the corner of his eye. He rocks back on his heels, shit-eating grin on his face as he goes on to say, “It’s all he’s been talking about since he showed up here with that Vette a few weeks back.”

Annie’s eyes narrow. “He brought the Corvette here?” she asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Needed some body work. Passenger’s-side door, some paneling.”

The narrow gaze flips in an instant, eyes blowing wide. “He _damaged_ the Corvette?” she asks, tone positively aghast.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, looking down as Lana grabs hold of his wrist and gives a swift, firm tug. “Something about parking in the city. What, baby?” he asks distractedly.

“I’m _hungry_ ,” she whines, hanging off of him and leaning back so far that her hair almost touches the ground.

“Your lunch’s in the fridge. Peter’ll help,” he tells her, voice low and soft as he gives the teen a swift nod and hands her off, watches as the two head back to the office. He turns back around just in time to see the shock on Annie’s face finally begin to wane, utter bewilderment filling in behind it. He laughs despite himself, the twist of her features, subtle crinkle of her nose as the gears so obviously click and sputter and turn inside her head. “No clue, huh?”

Her eyes pop up to meet his, suddenly freed from their ruminating. “Sorry,” she sputters. “No.”

His own brow twists in confusion as he recalls something the cocky billionaire had mentioned on that first visit to the shop. “He said his assistant recommended us. Was that you?”

Her mouth gapes open, bobbing helplessly for a long, silent moment as a deep red blush begins creeping up her neck. “Well, I mean… yeah. I… I mentioned you… Because I use you. I mean… not _use_ you. I mean…”

He feels a laugh bubble up his chest, his jaw suddenly aching from holding a smile so wide and stretched. “You okay there, doll?” he asks through the chuckle, for some reason absolutely delighting in her sudden discomfort.

“What?” she bleats. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, though he’s not quite able to keep them from crinkling at the corners as amusement continues to wash over him. “What exactly did you _mention_ to him?” he asks coyly, taking a single deliberate step forward. The blush blazes then, firing up her cheeks, extending to the very tips of her ears as her eyes dart frantically around the room.

“I don’t… what do you mean?”

It had been a long, long time since Bucky had made a girl blush, made her practically _buzz_ with nervous yearning just from a look. Or at least it had been a long time since he’d taken notice of it. Natasha and Steve were always telling him, trying to point out to him the effect he has on women. _She was totally flirting with you_. _That woman was eye-fucking your brains out. Stop being so dense._ But, really, those two are more desperate to get him laid than he’d ever been himself. They’d say just about anything to get him to move on, move forward with his life. And let them live theirs.

And besides, he _knew_. Back in the day – the days before dirty diapers and marital strife and a struggling business – he hardly ever spent a Saturday night in his own bed. Or if he was in his own bed, there sure as shit wasn’t a cold, empty spot beside him.

But that was the old Bucky Barnes. It might’ve been a mere five or six years in calendar time, but to him it seemed like a lifetime ago.

And yet, when that old grin he used to wear – the cocky, teasing, suggestive crooked tilt – perks his lips in a familiar pull, it feels utterly natural. Just like muscle memory.

He takes another step closer, his eyes trailing down to Annie’s exposed clavicle, the part of her body where the blush tapers off to show subtly tanned flesh peeking out from beneath a pale pink silk blouse. “You said you mentioned me,” he reminds her, quirking an eyebrow as he locks onto her deep green eyes, the color eerily similar to the pristine paint job on the Cobra at their side. “To Stark… what’d you tell him?”

She clears her throat, blinking only once to collect her composure. The bright red remains splashed across her skin, but her eyes settle on his, her once agape mouth pulling into a tight, firm line, twisting up at the edges to show off the effort being put into biting back a smile. “I told him,” she starts, small, subtle lilt to her voice. “That you were great with the Bronco.” His brow lifts higher, a silent invitation for her to go on, and she cocks her own high to match. “And that you were cute. And that I might… I don’t know…” She shrugs, her gaze ticking away for just a fraction of a moment. “Be… interested.”

He nods slowly, appreciatively, and does his best to shift his face into an impassive mask. “You told Tony Stark I’m cute?”

She snorts out a laugh, loud and utterly undignified. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

His brows twist together, face pinching tightly in a sudden realization. “He was checking me out. Sizing me up,” he mutters vaguely, lips parting as he huffs out a quick, “Huh.”

“I didn’t tell him to,” she says abruptly, pitching forward onto her toes, seeming a little _too_ enthusiastic with her denial. “I never asked… I mean…” She shakes her head and breathes out a laugh. “He gets sort of attached to his assistants. The ones that last anyway. He’s getting ready to marry one of them.”

Bucky’s mouth clamps shut, lips curling into a frown.

She laughs again. “I didn’t mean…that made him sound sort of creepy. No, it’s just… when you devote yourself to work all the time, the only real friends you make are, you know, at work.”

“So Tony Stark is your friend. And your boss. And your… matchmaker?”

“No,” she bleats out. Then, “Maybe,” amid a rather perplexed look. She shrugs. “He means well.”

“He put me through the fucking inquisition,” he mutters, feeling suddenly nervous. He brings an open palm to the back of his neck, scratches wildly at his scalp as his face twists. “Did he… did he tell you that? Or… tell you anything?” he asks, thinking back and trying to recall just how many bullshit answers he gave the man, how many irritated glares and fabricated stories.

A brilliant smile rolls over her face, one that somehow manages to immediately put him at ease, his fingers slowly slipping from his hair and back down to his side, casually tucking into his pocket. “He just told me that he gave me an _in_ … and then said I should go check on the Cobra.”

“Ah,” he breathes out simply, rocking back on his heels.

“So,” she drawls out languidly before beginning to awkwardly pivot back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her hands clasp tightly behind her back, eyes nervously roaming the floor for a brief moment before rising to meet his. They seem to lighten two full shades as they lock onto his – admittedly – curious gaze. “Can I buy you dinner?”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just so _fluffy_!

The place is nearly empty – not so surprising for four o’clock on a Sunday – and it makes their little meetup look more like a quick bite out between friends than a first date. But when Bucky texted late Friday night – _Sorry,_ _Lana’s sitter cancelled. Can’t make it for dinner tomorrow_. – Annie’s _slightly_ overzealous, more than a bit insistent nature burst forth in all its tenacious glory and pushed and pushed until she got him to offer up this small window of free time. She had berated herself – out loud in front of the bathroom mirror – for at least an hour after their text exchange ended, absolutely _horrified_ that she had backed him into a corner and somehow turned their _date_ into an early bird special at the pub down the block from where his daughter is having a swim lesson.

But her doggedness had set something off in Bucky. And it wasn’t the fact that she seemed so interested in meeting up with him that did it. Though it had been a long time since a woman pursued him to this degree. It was actually something about her perfectly controlled attempts at _organizing_ this date – her swift and methodical breakdown of his, admittedly, all-over-the-place schedule – that weirdly… turned him on. She took control of the whole damn thing, and _damn_ if that didn’t just give flight to a horde of butterflies that – even now as the two sit in awkward silence across from one another in a dark and empty pub – are beating their tiny wings mercilessly into the lining of his stomach.

The silence is finally cut through when Annie clears her throat, delicately cocking her head to the side as she looks over at him. “You, uh,” she mutters, leaning forward and reaching out to gingerly swipe her thumb across the side of his neck. A rather uncomfortable giggle ripples out of her as she pulls away, settles back into her seat, and holds up her hand to show him the small red glob she managed to pull off of him. “Looks like… jam?” she questions, inspecting it herself before quickly wiping it away onto the napkin in her lap. She catches him giving her a curious look, corner of his mouth curling ever so slightly into a coy grin. “Sorry,” she breathes out, ducking her head to hide the sudden blush blazing its way up her cheeks. “I just… I noticed it…”

“Yeah,” he says lightly, breathy chuckle following on its heels. “No, we… uh had waffles with strawberry jam for breakfast.” He clears his throat awkwardly, the stilted sound pulling her attention. When she looks back up, it’s to find him smiling nervously as he rubs at the back of his neck. A small snort, a tentative glance, a twitch of his fingers as his hand slowly rolls around to his jaw, swiftly scrubbing at the thick scruff. “Shit. I guess that’s been there all day.”

“Well,” she breathes out, biting down on the corner of her lip to keep from smiling too wide at his obvious embarrassment. “Can’t blame you for saving some. That does sound pretty delicious.”

“Yeah?” He grins, all crooked and charming, the ease with which he shifts from nervous to confident actually startling him a bit. “You wanna skip out on burgers and come over for waffles instead?”

Her eyes blow wide, thick, apprehensive laugh bubbling up from her chest and spilling out along with a teasing, “You’re very forward!”

“Nah,” he hums, waving a hand absently through the air. “I just have about four dozen extras in the freezer now that I need to get rid of.” He looks up at her, locking his dazzling blue eyes onto hers and raising a single dubious brow. “You don’t even have to come inside. Really. I’ll just run them out to you. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Annie leans back and laughs, the light, melodic giggles flowing so easily into the small space between them, seeping into his pores and setting his skin aflame. “Do you have enough strawberry jam for all of them?” she asks, steeling her features in an attempt at a serious inquiry.

He shakes his head – “Definitely not.” – and relaxes in his seat, letting his shoulders slacken as he lays his forearms out onto the tabletop, absently twisting his fingers together. “But we’re going through a _testing_ phase right now. Trying out different things. One day it’s strawberry jam on the waffles, next day whipped cream…”

“Oh, there should always be whipped cream,” she interrupts, chin and lips tightening into a stolid directive.

He chuckles a bit before going on to list, “hot fudge sauce, orange marmalade,” stopping briefly to wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Maple syrup,” he declares, quirking a very stern stare her way, “the way it oughtta be.” Then his features soften once more, delicate smile splitting his face. “Last week was butterscotch… just glad we made it over that disgusting hurdle.”

“Out of curiosity,” she intones, brow furrowing in deep interest, “is it you or Lana who’s so set on this testing?”

A swift, breathy laugh falls from his lips, his head shaking languidly. “Not me… I get pretty stuck in my ways. No,” he mutters, tone taking on a sort of wistful twang. “No, my baby girl’s the adventurous one.”

“That’s a good thing, though, right?” she asks, leaning forward to mirror his posture, elbows up onto the table, shoulders slumped and relaxed. “My niece is three and I don’t think she’s eaten anything that isn’t some shade of yellow in about a year and a half.”

“Yellow?” He lets out put-on shudder. “We went through a green phase last year. But that really just meant a lot of spinach and green beans.”

“Ah, yes… we have _wax_ beans. And corn. Lots of bananas. And far too much cheese.” He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head in a sort of miserable solidarity with her sister – with all toddler parents. “I babysat last week,” she goes on, “and I had to coat each chicken nugget in mustard ‘til they were _dripping_ just to get her to eat them.”

“Svetlana won’t eat mustard,” he announces simply. “But if you like ketchup, I’ve got about fifty gallons in the cupboard.”

The two share a soft laugh, each pulling back and sitting upright when the waiter comes by to take their order. A bacon cheeseburger for Bucky, no onions, extra pickles. Annie quirks an almost suspicious brow at him as he hands over his menu, giving the waiter little more than a sidelong glance as she says, eyes still plastered to the man across from her, “Same. Medium rare.”

Bucky catches her gaze, the corners of his mouth quirking just a little bit higher, skin around his eyes crinkling just a little bit deeper as he watches her with an amused sort of interest. He says nothing, simply scooting his chair closer and leaning forward once again, his bright blue eyes never leaving hers.

It’s little more than a moment before the silence becomes too much for her bear – not that any sort of silence has ever been particularly bearable for Annie – and she clears her throat again, ducking out of his piercing stare. “Svetlana,” she starts, forced casual note to her voice. “That’s a beautiful name. Don’t hear it too often.”

He nods lightly, winding his fingers together once again and twiddling them distractedly as he nibbles at the corner of his lip. “Yep,” he says, letting his lip pop loose along with the _P_. “Means _light_ ,” he goes on, brows rising appreciatively before his countenance takes on a soft, almost wistful character. “Light of my life.” He shrugs. “’Course, poor baby girl still can’t actually _say_ it.”

A small hum escapes her as she watches the man across from her, rather silly, crooked grin tugging at her face as his almost seems to glow. “It’s Russian?” she asks simply, chin falling to her open palm as her body unconsciously shifts forward, leaning closer to him.

His eyes flick back to hers, the dreamy quality slowly dissipating as he answers, “Yeah. Yeah, her mom is Russian.”

She nods, a bit hesitant to ask, but too keenly curious not to… “Right. You said you were divorced. Was that… recent?”

“Nah,” he says, shoulders lifting in a casual shrug. “We split a couple years ago. Never really shoulda gotten married to begin with.” Another shrug, this one looking almost forced. “Just seemed like the right thing to do.” His gaze drops down to his hands for the briefest of moments, forehead furrowing as he watches his fingers shift and clench, white knuckling as they worry each other. He pulls them apart and shakes them out swiftly before reclining back in his chair. “We were always better at just being… friends.”

Something in her chest catches at that – the solemn sincerity with which he breathes out those words, _better at being friends_ – and she feels suddenly… lighter, the tension she’d been carrying in her muscles, ever since brazenly asking Bucky to dinner the other day, finally easing, if only a bit. “And you’re still friends now?”

He looks up at her, seeming almost surprised by the question. “Yeah. Yeah, Nat’s great. She loves Lana like crazy… great mom. And she’s pretty relaxed about the schedule, you know?” The light blue of his eyes begins to haze, a sort of gray cloudiness pushing over his irises. “It’s easier right now, though. Just daycare and swim lessons to juggle.” He breathes out a short chuckle. “And soccer. But that’s… not real soccer right now, you know? Not like the games really mean anything, or like she’s missing anything if we skip a practice.” He shrugs blithely and bites down on his bottom lip. “She starts kindergarten next year, though. Not sure what it’ll be like once she’s in school.”

Annie’s brows tug tightly together. “What do you mean?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, rocking it a bit and dragging it across the wood floor with a small scrape. “Just… Natasha wants to put her in this private school by her.” The clouds in his eyes thicken despite the soft smile that tugs at his lips. “It’s a good school. I’m all for it. But… it’s right by her. ‘Bout forty minutes from me.” A quick shrug, an almost painful laugh. “It’d probably be easier… better… for her to stay over there during the week.”

_Ah_. Annie pulls in a deep breath, finds herself nodding slowly as she takes that in, lips pursing as she thinks on what to say… thinks on how she might be able veer away from this obviously sensitive subject. _First date_ , she reminds herself, those two words rolling around inside her head as she continues to watch Bucky absently gnaw on his lip. _This is supposed to be a_ _first date, not a damn therapy session_.

“It’s good, though,” he spurts out suddenly, pulling himself upright in the chair. “It’ll be good for her. To have that stability. It’ll just be hard… on _me_.” Some light returns to his eyes as he offers another smile, small but genuine. “Might have more room in the freezer, though.”

She laughs lightly and quickly takes the out he offers, pulling away from any talk of exes and custody arrangements. “Why _did_ you make so many waffles?”

He cocks his head and looks at her as though she just asked him why the sky is blue. _Because it is. Because that’s just how it is._ “Because Lana wanted to.”

She nods slowly, realization washing over her. Of course it’d be that simple.

“You know,” he breathes out, pensive look on his face. “You’re pretty easy to talk to.”

“I am?”

He lets out a gentle laugh. “You didn’t know?”

She shrugs blithely, crooked grin blooming. “I _may_ have been told that before. I think it’s just what happens when you show genuine interest in a person.”

“Oh,” he intones, brows rising and face pulling into what she’s already beginning to recognize as his teasing guise. “So you’re genuinely interested? In me?”

Another shrug, the forced casualness of the motion being just over the top enough to cause an expectant tingle to trace up Bucky’s spine as he watches her. “Maybe.”

He shakes his head lazily back and forth, blows out a long sigh as he does so. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I think your boss might be even more interested. I mean, he practically stalked me for weeks.”

“Ugh,” she moans out dramatically, falling face first atop the table with a dull thud. Her shoulders shake with silent laughter, the man across from her snorting out a sudden and thoroughly amused chortle of his own as she lays splayed out before him for a moment longer. She pulls herself upright, trailing her fingers through her long, thick hair in an attempt to right it, and locks onto Bucky’s thoroughly entertained gaze. “I told you,” she practically whines. “I didn’t know he would do that. And I am so, so sorry.”

“Yeah, you better be,” he says with mock offense.

Her eyes narrow accusingly. “You know, I have access to all of his receipts. I saw how much he’s been paying you. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” he snorts. “He needed a job done. I did it.”

A single brow cocks high, the rather indignant expression setting off those damn butterflies in Bucky’s stomach once again. “He’s a mechanical engineer. He runs pilot programs out of MIT. His father built the first working model of a flying car.” She leans heavily over the table, positioning herself close enough to him that he can almost feel her breath hot on his face. “Tony Stark can do his own tune-ups.” She flops lazily back into her chair, smile brimming with snark and sass, and Bucky realizes that the heat on his cheeks may not have been from her breath after all, but from his own body betraying him with a fiery blush. “Hell, he could build a robot to do all of that for him.”

He clears his throat thickly, eyes shifting away for a beat so he can… regather himself. “All of a sudden, I’m feeling very _used_ ,” he mutters vaguely, gaze bouncing back to hers upon hearing a bright shock of laughter. “It’s true,” he deadpans, not at all succeeding at keeping the grin off his face. “And honestly,” he mutters softly, the thought only just now occurring to him, “I can’t help but think that someone who helped her dad rebuild a Mustang might just know how to change her own oil too.”

A look of alarm flashes across her face, leaving a slightly embarrassed – slightly charmed – crooked smirk in its wake. “I guess you’re on to me,” she admits with a sigh. Then, leveling him with the kind of overconfident stare he had not yet seen – nor expected to see – on that delicate, dimpled face, she says, “Now that you know what I was willing to do just to get to know you a little better… what kind of hoops are you willing to jump through for me?”

He takes a moment to answer, his pale blue eyes boring into her, stabbing deep down into her soul as he gazes tenderly at her. “Well,” he says finally, never shifting his stare. “I guess I could pay for your burger.”


	4. Chapter Four

“So?” Steve croons, almost giddy as he strolls through the door, _finally_ rolling into the garage late Monday afternoon.

Bucky doesn’t give him a hard time about his lack of punctuality, not really… not when Steve is typically the one covering for _his_ absences. Besides, he figured this might happen. Nat was supposed to get back late last night from a week-long business trip. So, yeah, it makes sense that the two of them would end up _sleeping_ _in_ this morning. Especially considering that they were conveniently kid-free.

But… shit, it’s almost three. And c’mon, it’s pretty ballsy to walk in that late. And to do it because you were busy banging your best friend’s ex. And to open, not with an apology, but with a, _So?_ dropping out of your gossip-hungry mouth.

Now, maybe – _maybe_ – if it were any other day, this wouldn’t bother Bucky quite so much. Maybe he’d just laugh it off and tell his busybody friend to get his ass to work. Maybe. But today had already been a _day_ , and Bucky can feel himself teetering dangerously close to the edge. And what pisses him off more than anything right now is that Steve would’ve been able to plainly recognize that fact… if only he bothered to read the room a bit before opening his big, dumb mouth.

Had he just done that, had he instead asked, _Hey, man, what’s up? Everything okay?_ Then Bucky could’ve vented – just for a moment… that’s all he really needed – about getting bested by a four year old last night, agreeing to forgo a bath and then letting the chlorine-soaked kid sleep in his bed, rolling and flipping and kicking him in the face at two in the morning.

He could’ve told him that, thanks in large part to that debacle, he was too damn exhausted this morning to push when the age-old _how to appropriately dress when leaving the house_ argument erupted just after breakfast. He could’ve explained that’s why the victorious four year old over in the corner is wearing her new Moana swimsuit right now. And overalls that are at least a size too small, causing a wedgie deep enough that she’s been picking at it all damn day. Oh, and snow boots… yeah, she chose to wear snow boots. In the dead of summer. And he was powerless to keep any of it from happening.

He could’ve also explained that, while he didn’t really expect Steve to be in _early_ , it would’ve been nice if he’d shown up by noon. Because there were already four drop-offs by the time he got in this morning, and he still has two rebuilds out in the back bays. Not to mention the Cobra, which is good to go now, but is still taking up valuable space – because _no way_ is Bucky risking parking that beauty out back. And, yeah, Peter had been around to pick up the slack and to help keep Lana out of trouble – thank God for summer vacation and a kid with a good work ethic – but still… it would’ve been nice to have his business partner around to help deal with the _business_.

Hell, it would’ve been nice if Steve had just _noticed_ and given his friend the much-needed opportunity to say all these things – to garner a little bit of well-deserved sympathy. And maybe a meek apology too.

But instead what he gets is a smug-ass, _So?_

Bucky’s nostrils flare, brow furrowing, as he watches the blond – giant, goofy smile splitting his big dumb face – head for the counter where he’s busy finishing up placing an order. “What?” he snipes, eyes narrowed and tone more than a little heated.

Steve stops short, brows shooting high. He shakes his head in amusement and takes two large, comical steps back from the counter. “So it went that well?” he jokes, before turning and heading around the corner. He pops into the office to drop off an armload of paperwork, and waits for Bucky to follow.

Which he does, quickly wiping down his hands and tossing the oil-covered rag on a shelf. He glances over his shoulder to see that Peter and Svetlana are still consumed with watching… _something_ on his phone, and he follows his friend to the office. Leaning stiffly in the doorway, he cocks his chin up to indicate a pile of papers on the desk that Steve is haphazardly trying to shuffle off to the side. “Those need to be paid this week,” he states casually, earning a deflated sigh from the otherwise chipper man.

Steve picks up the bills on top of the stack and lays them in another pile he’d been _organizing_. What his method is, Bucky’s never quite been sure. But he’s managed to pick up most of the slack on the bookkeeping end of the business, and as long he continues to keep their doors open, he honestly doesn’t really care what his system entails. “Seriously,” he breathes out after a long moment, once he’s seemingly satisfied with the layout on his desk. He steps around it to lean back into the metal tabletop, folding his arms coolly over his chest and smirking openly at Bucky. “How’d it go? You get lucky?”

“This coming from the guy who didn’t lose his virginity ‘til he was twenty-two,” he smarts with a smirk of his own.

“Hey, just because I was a late bloomer doesn’t mean I have no interest in sex now.” He quirks a rather assessing brow at the positively brooding man, giving him a knowing stare. “And besides, it’s not exactly a secret that you _really_ need to get laid.”

“Very funny,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, a strangled breath blowing tightly through his nose as he tenses in the doorway.

Steve only laughs. “I’m just saying, it could do wonders for your… mood.”

“I’ve had about enough of you bitchin’ about my _mood_ , Rogers,” Bucky declares with a pointed finger and just a _hint_ of playfulness in his otherwise irritated gaze. He shakes his head vaguely – the gesture somehow looking both amused and indignant. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you lost the right to talk to me about getting laid when you shacked up with my wife.”

“Ha, ha,” Steve counters dully, rolling his eyes. He swallows thickly and quirks a forced smile. “She’s not your wife.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, folding his arms across his chest in a manner mirroring Steve’s.

The truth is, Bucky barely thought of Natasha as his _wife_ when they were married. Theirs was a marriage of convenience more than anything – easier to trade off midnight feedings and diaper changes and the woes of teething when living in the same house together. And better insurance coverage for a recently out-of-work Nat – OBGYN appointments and ultrasounds and _childbirth_ being stupid fucking expensive. And he’d only really batted an eye at her and Steve hooking up because… well, because it’s _Steve_. And honestly, he still sometimes has trouble seeing the giant blond as anything other than the scrawny, scrappy _absolute dork_ he grew up with.

But once _hooking up_ morphed into something… else, something _more_ … once his two friends decided, just a few short months ago to make it unofficially official and move in together, well, that’s when Bucky started to feel an odd tug and pull in his gut. A _feeling_ that sometimes drains his breath away, tightening like a vice around his chest and sparking a sort of resentment that burns and simmers like the charred embers of a just-extinguished fire.

It feels a little like jealousy. A lot like grief.

Most of the time, he’s able to ignore it, bury the _feeling_ deep, deep down inside… squelch the smoldering until the acrimony passes. But sometimes he gives in, the bitterness typically rising in passive-aggressive jokes and not-so-off-hand comments. Hurting his friends – his _best_ friend and the mother of his child – is definitely not something Bucky would ever _want_ to do. But there is a small amount of satisfaction in this game that he sometimes just… craves.

Steve lets out a rather exasperated huff, unfurling his arms and reaching down to tightly grip the edge of the desk behind him. “Come on, Buck. Are we really gonna do this again?” he asks, tone impassive.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds with a dismissive shrug and a smug expression.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, irritation seeping from the word. “We _never_ did anything while you two were married. You know that.” The words are issued out with little emotion. This is just a reminder, not an argument. They’ve been through it. Over it. A million times or more. “And besides, even when you were together… you never…” He releases his grip on the desk and issues out a stilling breath before looking up at his friend with patient, pleading eyes. “You guys were never in love.”

Bucky simply stares, left foot shuffling slightly as he digs his tow into the tile of the floor, jaw ticking tensely to the side before unlocking just enough for him to say, “There was love there. Might not’ve been… whatever the hell you two think you have…”

Steve sighs, long and languid, as he continues to try to pull back from this all-too-familiar precipice. “You two had a fling that ended in a shotgun wedding. You had some fun and some… hardship. You had a beautiful little girl. But you _never_ had love. Buck, you as much as _told_ me that.”

He shrugs, jaw still tensing, arms tightening around his chest.

Steve shakes his head gloomily, lets out an almost dejected sounding sigh. “Are you gonna tell me how your date went or what?”

Bucky purses his lips tightly together, stormy gray eyes shifting around the room as he seems to think over his friend’s inquiry. And Steve, for his part, simply waits, patiently lingering atop the edge of the desk as Bucky works to bring himself out of the funk he so easily seems to fall into these days. He almost laughs while he waits, recalling doing this same exact thing with Lana just the other day when she lashed out at him after being refused TV time and proceeded to silently sulk on the sofa, her tiny jaw clenched and ticking to the side in much the same way as the man standing across from him now.

Natasha had fumed over the interaction, telling him he has the patience of a saint before huffily marching Svetlana over to timeout.

Finally, Bucky shrugs, arms loosening and dropping to his sides, hands slipping casually into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. “It went… fine,” he mutters before glancing up and catching Steve’s curious gaze, his eyes widening as if to say, _go on_. “It was fine. It was good. She seems… nice.”

“Nice,” he repeats, head bobbing up and down, small, appreciative smile creeping across his face. “Just _nice_?”

“What more do you want her to be?” he asks rather pointedly.

“I don’t know. I mean, she’s pretty. She’s _nice_. You said she was good with Lana the other day. She knows cars…” He shoves off of the desk and takes two long strides toward Bucky. “She obviously _really_ likes you… got Tony freakin’ Stark to spy on you.”

A quick laugh sputters out of him, fond smile sweeping over his face. “Not sure that was her doing. You know he’s a mechanical engineer?” he asks, face twisting distractedly. “He builds robots. I don’t know why I ever bought that he needed a mechanic.”

Steve reaches out and takes a firm hold of his shoulder, clamps down and gives a quick shake. “I don’t care about Tony Stark.”

“So sorry to bore you,” he complains, gaze falling to his foot as it continues to scuff along the tile. “Yeah,” he mutters after a moment, offering another halfhearted shrug. The corners of his lips quirk up just the slightest bit… and he can feel the pull in his cheeks too as his face sets into a grin. “Annie’s nice.”

Steve chokes back a chuckle and squeezes his shoulder a little tighter. “Your lips say she’s _nice_. But your face says she’s really _something else_ ,” he intones with a lilt and a wink. He drops his hand and leans back to give him an assessing look. “You gonna go out again?”

Bucky chews his lip hesitantly before nodding. “Yeah. I think so. She should be in later to pick up the Cobra. So…”

“So…?” he intones, the word imbued with just as much mirth as it had been the first time he said it. Bucky says nothing, just shakes his head as he bites back a snicker. “Go on,” Steve mutters, slapping him on the shoulder and spinning him out the door. “Get back to work. I got bills to pay.”

It’s not even an hour later when Annie shows up, dropped off by a taxi that speeds away like it’s in a police chase. Bucky meets her at the door – not even thinking about how obvious that makes it seem that he’s been waiting and watching for her – and lets out a low whistle after the screeching tires. “You say something to make him take off like that?”

She tosses a glance over her shoulder as she strides into the shop, dark hair flipping wildly with the motion. “Just mentioned I had a .22 in my boot when he asked if I wanted to make a _pitstop_ ,” she says with a shrug.

“Do you?” he asks, forehead wrinkling in both amusement and concern.

“Of course not,” she breathes out, dropping her arms onto the counter and pivoting her weight forward. “I don’t believe in guns… or violence. Or making _pitstops_ with creepy fifty-year-old cabbies who almost veer into oncoming traffic because they’re so focused on trying to see up my skirt through the rearview mirror.”

Bucky feels a quick pang of anger shoot through his chest, a sudden swell of protectiveness – or, _shit_ , is possessiveness? – rises up in his gut. “Well,” he breathes out, quirking his frown into a forced grin. “I have a pretty nice ride here that can get you across town instead.”

She follows him through the shop as he leads her to the bay where Peter and Svetlana are lazily polishing up the wheels on the Cobra. “Oooo,” she intones, eyes blowing wide. “You gave her a bath too?!” She drops down to the ground at Lana’s side, the kneel looking awkward – even painful – in her high-heeled ankle boots and tight skirt. “She looks _beautiful_.”

“Yeah,” Lana quips, grinning up at her before retuning her attention to the brilliant chrome wheel.

Bucky steps up behind them, looming largely as he says, “Lana and Peter both have those tiny fingers. Perfect for getting between all the spokes to polish up the wheels.”

Peter shoots him a look somewhere between confused and offended, and rises swiftly to say, “My fingers are…” He thrusts his hands out in front of Bucky, voice going a bit high pitched when he finishes with, “These are the hands of a _man_.”

Annie chokes on a laugh, sputtering and covering her amusement with a cough as she ducks her head and continues to kneel by Lana’s side, pretending to be as focused on the shiny wheel as the little girl seems to be. But Peter hears her none the less, letting out an offended huff and spinning to head out toward the back bay, mumbling something along the lines of, “no respect,” as he goes.

Bucky snorts out a sudden laugh of his own when the kid accidentally collides with Steve as he steps out of the office, shoulder checking him and then anxiously fussing with the items knocked from his boss’ hands. Juice boxes. The kid is fretting over spilled juice like he’s gonna lose his job. Steve chuckles lightly, pats Peter on the back, and hands him a box for his trouble, placating and sending him on his way.

“Juice break!” he announces as he rounds the corner, making his way over to them. Bucky raises a suspicious brow, not at all believing that it’s a coincidence this impromptu snack break is happening in time with Annie’s arrival. Steve catches his wary guise and merely wiggles his eyebrows in response before looking over to Annie and offering, “Juice?”

“Uncle Steve,” Lana announces, taking the box with the freshly popped straw from him. “That’s Annie. And she has that car. But not really. But she gets to drive it. And I made it pretty.”

“I see that, pumpkin” he says, reaching down and running his fingers casually through the little girl’s curls.

Annie happily accepts an apple juice from his other hand, smiling gratefully as she offers a nod and says, “I’m Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. So, not my car. But, like Lana said…” She shoots the little girl a conspiratorial wink. “I do get to drive it.”

“Can’t say I’m not jealous,” he intones, glancing over at the shiny specimen before them. “And I gotta say,” he mutters, hand raking down through Lana’s hair and coming to rest at her cheek. He gives her a gentle pat and she leans easily into him, resting her head on his thigh. “You made her look real pretty, buddy.”

Annie nods in agreement, looking over at Bucky and expecting a similar appreciative nod from him. But what she sees instead is a rather stiff, emotionless expression constricting his features, his shoulders tightening as his gaze falls to Steve’s hand, once again tenderly tangled in his daughter’s hair. “Uh, yeah,” she mutters, momentarily distracted by the sudden, thick tension. “You did a great job, Lana,” she says, keeping her eyes trained on Bucky, studying him with a sad sort of curiosity as he continues to watch his daughter melt so casually into this other man’s embrace.

“Oh,” Steve starts, exuberant blue eyes honing on in her, seemingly utterly oblivious to the sudden discomfort of the man to her left. “I’m Steve, by the way.” He drops the remaining juice box onto a shelf and extends his hand for a shake.

Her head whips towards him, confusion creeping along her features for a fleeting moment before she accepts his hand and offers a bright smile. “Yeah, yes, of course. No, Bucky mentioned you. And actually… I think we’ve met before. When I brought in my car.” Her eyes veer quickly to the shining convertible at her right before returning to the tall blond in front of her. “My… I have a Bronco.”

Steve’s smile is absolutely luminous, his face seeming to split with joy as he says, “Yeah, I know. I remember. Just seems like you always end up talking to this guy,” he says, ticking his chin towards Bucky.

Annie lets out the smallest, breathy chuckle, her cheeks popping with a quick swell of crimson.

“Heard you two got together for dinner,” he goes on, biting back an amused chortle. “Where’d you guys go?”

“Oh, uh… McGuinness?” she sputters, trying to remember the name of the place. “Just this little pub…”

“Yeah,” he says with a curt nod. “Yeah, I know it well. We go there a lot, right Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes pop up to meet Steve’s, a tight lipped smile pulling at his features as he nods.

“You guys gonna go out again?” he asks, sly smile blooming as he turns away from Bucky, directing the question to Annie instead.

“Oh, uh,” she falters briefly, eyes ticking nervously between the two men. “Maybe. I mean… I hope so.”

“You should go to the zoo,” Lana says after a long and loud slurp through her straw. “Daddy _loves_ the zoo.”

“Oh yeah?” she beams down at the girl.

“Yeah, he likes the monkeys best.”

Bucky’s lips split wide, blossoming grin bright and true and _beautiful_ as he gazes down at his little girl. “I like _my_ monkey,” he tells her, wiggling his brows to pull a thick, wet cackle from her.

“Well,” Steve says casually, “ _I_ think you two should just head out now… take the Cobra… maybe grab some Chinese. Bucky loves Chinese, doesn’t he?” he asks, quirking his head down and giving Lana’s hair a little tug. She nods in response, too busy sucking her juice box dry to offer any words. His fingers continue to thread idly through her curls, giving another short tug when he hears the vacuous sucking of a bone-dry box. “You about ready to head out, bud?”

She shakes her head and pulls away from his gentle hold, her wild hair flying in a mad halo around her as she leaps towards Bucky. “Nope,” she states, popping the _P_ with flair as she slams into him, slipping around to hide behind his back.

Steve cranes his neck to peer around Bucky and down at the little girl as she coils herself tightly round her father’s leg. “You sure? Mom’s been traveling all week,” he says, tender tone just for her. “She _really_ wants to see you.”

“I’m supposed to have her ‘til the end of the day,” Bucky states, his voice taking on a hard edge, hand sliding down to splay protectively over Lana’s small back as she continues to cling to him.

Steve merely gazes at him with wide, weary eyes. “Yeah, I just thought… we’re pretty slow now. Peter can handle closing things down. I thought we both could take off a little early. I figured, you two…” He lets out a soft sigh, smiles shyly, nervously. “And then… maybe Nat could get a little more time with her…”

His face remains still, impassive. There’s a coldness to him that Annie had yet to see, and it startles her a bit. Saddens her, truth be told. Especially when she sees his shoulders pull and stiffen even further, the muscles of his jaw rippling beneath his cheek as he repeats, “I have her until the end of the day.”

“Buck,” he breathes out, eyes flickering down to the girl in his grasp. She still has herself wound tight around his leg, but unlike just moments before – when her face was lit with that wide, sweet smile, cheeks rosy with playful exertion – she’s now stiff and silent, curled up into herself.

Bucky follows his friend’s eyes down to the little girl clinging to his side. A long, languid sigh escapes him, deflates his bitter resolve as he feels the tiny muscles tense in her back, sees her face shift and press deeper into his thigh. He’s not oblivious to this disposition of hers, this propensity that he had somehow bestowed upon her to slip so easily into a silent, sullen state. The inclination as well to mirror his own temperament and echo even his worst traits like a little imprinting duckling.

“Okay,” he mutters with a groan before reaching down and peeling her off of him. He lifts her into his arms, leaning back a bit to get a good look at her face. He matches her pouty frown with a put-on, overly dramatic one of his own, raises a brow as he gives her a little jostle and waits for her countenance to crack.

She shakes her head, continues to pout, the Romanov stubborn streak bubbling up to the surface. He pokes her in the side, a jolting tickle that _usually_ works to pull her from a sulky stupor. But not today. She pulls back, shifting heavily into his other arm with a long, deep bellow of, “Noooo.”

Another sigh. Another quick glance over at Steve, who’s standing still and silent, nervously chewing his lip. “How ‘bout this,” Bucky tries, bouncing Lana in his arms again. “You go hang out with your mom… because I know she really missed you and really wants to see you. And maybe you can come back to the garage to help me out for a while in the morning?” He looks up at Steve – hates that he feels like he needs to – seeking confirmation… permission.

He shrugs. “Daycare should be back up and running tomorrow, but I guess she could come by for a bit before.”

Lana’s brow furrows as she thinks on the proposition. “What about Annie?” she asks, voice just barely above a whisper as she leans into Bucky’s ear. “Are you gonna go to the zoo without me?”

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “No, baby. I’d never go to the zoo without you.” He leans in and swiftly swipes his nose along hers, bopping their tips together and _finally_ pulling just the smallest of giggles from her when he murmurs, “Can’t watch those monkeys play without my own little grease monkey, right?”

“Okay,” she agrees finally, though there’s still a suspicious amount of doubt in the word for such a little girl.

“Okay,” he nods, laying a messy raspberry of a kiss on her cheek and plopping her onto the floor. “Go throw away your juice box and grab your stuff,” he directs, waiting until she disappears into the office to turn back to Steve.

“I’m sorry, man,” the blond states, a giant, nervous hand pawing at the back of his neck. “I just thought… I figured this would work out for all of us…”

Bucky waves him off, clears his throat and says, “It’s fine. Really. It’s just a couple hours early,” directing the words at Steve despite shifting his gaze at _anything_ else. He pivots away, back towards the car – back to face the awkwardly silent woman standing beside it – and he lets out a stilted breath. “What do you say,” he starts, stern countenance slowly melting away as his eyes flick up from the Cobra to Annie’s soft, soothing eyes. “You wanna take me for a spin?”


	5. Chapter Five

They end up driving around the city until the sun begins to set, stopping only once along the way to partake of some ice cream – double fudge for Annie and butter pecan for Bucky – which they end up swapping halfway through. A quick scrub down with loads of napkins and hand sanitizer – _I should’ve just brought baby wipes, you’re as bad as Lana_ – and more than a few raucous laughs and self-deprecating smiles – _You’re the one who wore strawberry jam to dinner_ – and they find themselves back on the road, heading in the direction of his place.

It’s almost nine by the time they get there, Annie not paying any attention at all as she steps through the door, too focused on making sure the Chinese delivery order is correct before hitting accept on her phone. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells her, a genuine lilt to his voice. “I can just make us something.”

“Oh,” she mutters without looking up. “Like waffles?”

He stops short in the small entryway, spinning to face her with a serious stare. “Do _not_ think you’re leaving here without at least a dozen to take home with you.”

She snorts out a giggle, but doesn’t bother looking up until he flips on the lights and ushers her all the way in, softly closing the door behind her. Then… her eyes widen in both shock and awe.

“I know,” he murmurs, sounding utterly dejected. “I told you, the place is a wreck.” He kicks aside a stuffed monkey, launching it into the air and sending it somewhere back behind the couch. “Lana was with me all week so I didn’t really get a chance to clean.” He leans down and gathers a handful of toys into his arms – another monkey, some sort of dog-like action figures, a doll with a missing head – and spins awkwardly in a circle before dumping them back behind a shelf in the corner.

She glances at her phone just long enough to send the delivery order through and sputters out a laugh, turning in a lazy circle herself to take in the sheer chaos of the place. Her mouth drops as a thick chuckle dies in her throat. “My God… you are a _slob_!”

He grinds to a halt, brow furrowing, face twisting in a wholly incredulous expression. “Hey, most of this stuff isn’t mine.”

She immediately points to the small kitchen table, half of it taken up with what looks to be a turbo sitting atop oil-pocked newspapers, and raises an accusatory brow.

“I’ll have you know, that’s for a friend’s bike. Like I said, almost all of this crap belongs to… someone else,” he finishes, lips puckering with confusion when his gaze lands on the head of the aforementioned doll, placed precariously atop a box of Froot Loops. He quickly swipes both items, chucking the head into the trash – and internally dreading the possibility of having to explain where it went later – and shoving the sugary cereal into the pantry.

“Oh, I see,” Annie intones teasingly, stepping carefully over a pile of storybooks collapsed in the center of the living room. “Yes. I suppose that Lana went out and bought all of these things herself, brought everything home and then… decorated the house with them. All on her own.” She cocks a sly brow at him along with closed-lip smirk.

“Yeah,” he replies coolly, running a hand through his hair and looking sheepishly around the room, taking everything in and seeming a bit… lost for what to do. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

She spurts out a laugh and makes her way to the sofa, collapsing back and reclining into the fuzzy purple throw pillow behind her. “Food should be here in about an hour,” she breathes out, snuggling in deep to make herself comfortable.

Bucky disappears into the small kitchen, heading for the fridge that she can just make out from over the top of the breakfast bar. Something shimmers in her periphery and she shifts to see what it is, sliding further down the couch and twisting to her right to settle her back against the armrest. Frowning curiously, she tugs at the bright yellow fabric, plucking a sparkly princess dress from between the cushions.

“You into Belle?” Bucky asks casually as he returns to the living room to find her gently fingering the tulle skirt. He’s got two beers in hand, leans over to offer her one before he rather indelicately flops down beside her. A sharp wince pulls from between his teeth and he twists around to pull a plastic toy screwdriver out from beneath his hip, small growl sounding as he tosses it aside.

“I _love_ Belle.” She sets her beer onto the floor by the sofa, carefully lays the glittery dress out over her chest and beams up at him. “Do I look pretty?”

He nods simply – appreciatively – and bites back a chuckle as he takes a quick swig from his beer. “Yeah, doll,” he replies, twisting around to set the bottle on the side table. “You look real pretty.”

She hums out a small laugh and lets her eyes slowly blink shut. “Once I get some kung pow chicken in me, I’ll be revived enough to clean this place up for you.”

“The hell you will,” he mutters, reaching out and pulling her feet into his lap. “You’re a guest here.” He tugs at her boots, almost smacking himself in the face with one when it comes off too suddenly, and then actually dragging her further down the couch – bright, melodic giggles spilling out of her – as he struggles with the other. “ _Jesus_ ,” he intones, flinging the other boot across the room once she’s finally free.

“I hope you know where that landed,” she muses, letting herself melt a little further into the overstuffed sofa as he begins gently massaging her feet. “I’m a little worried I might never find it in here.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair. It’ll probably be easier.”

Her eyes drift shut again, the long day finally catching up with her. She hadn’t been back home since yesterday afternoon, crashing on her sister’s couch after gabbing all night about her date – the first date she’d been on since moving to the city _well_ over a year ago. And of course, her six-month-old nephew had her up by five, which really wasn’t that big of a deal anyway, considering she had to be at work by six thirty to get Tony prepped for an impromptu trip to Sri Lanka.

Annie worked long enough – and strange enough – hours at Stark Industries to necessitate an entire closet full of attire in her small first-floor office, so changing out of her sister’s proffered sweats was no big deal. But running all over town in the short skirt and ankle boots – admittedly chosen for their cute factor and _not_ any sort of utilitarian measure – while helping Pepper out with wedding _things_ had left her craving those sweats like nobody’s business.

She lets out an involuntary moan when Bucky hits just the right spot, his thumb pressing into her instep in a way both painful and magical. “Where did you learn to do this?” she asks with an almost astonished cadence.

“The internet,” he replies blithely. She opens her eyes and lifts herself onto her elbows to glare at him, earning little more than a sheepish shrug in response. “When Nat was pregnant,” he mutters, voice low, almost shy, “she was waiting tables for a while… on her feet all day… said they always hurt. So I hit up YouTube for some tips.”

A small, tender smile splits her face. “Lucky lady.”

He shrugs again, scoffs as well. “I don’t know about that. She got stuck with me. For a while anyway.”

Her brow furrows and she hauls herself up a little higher, awkwardly tucking the fluffy purple back pillow behind her. “Why do you say that?” she asks, voice aching with sincerity. “Why do you say it like that… _stuck with you_?”

Another shrug. “We never meant… I mean… we were just friends. We fooled around some. Then… boom. Baby.”

“Yeah, but… still. She married you. I can’t imagine she ever thought she was _stuck with you_.” She flops back a bit, lets her eyes linger on the stark white ceiling above. “Not when you give foot rubs like this.”

A shy, almost nervous-sounding laugh burbles out of him, one that he quickly tries to cover by changing the subject, emitting with a lilt, “Why the hell would you wear those shoes all day if they’re so uncomfortable anyway?”

She lets out a small hum. “You have got _a lot_ to learn about women.”

“Not something I haven’t heard before.”

She pulls herself upright and looks at him with a crooked smile. “You’re doing alright right now, though,” she offers with a wink before falling back into the pillow again. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I shouldn’t be this tired. It was just a looooong day.”

“Yeah? What’d you do?”

A short scoff spills from her lips. “You don’t want to know,” following it out along with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Bucky drops her foot and leans over to take hold of the flippant hand – along with her other wrist – hauling her up into a sitting position. She lets out a small squeak in protest and proceeds to collapse sideways into the rear cushions of the couch, remaining upright, though just barely. He stifles a laugh and gently swipes her mussed hair back behind her ear, fingers – admittedly – lingering longer than needed. “I want to know,” he says, voice slow and low, as his thumb drops to trace lazily down her neck before his hand finally falls away altogether, nervously coming back to rest on his thigh.

It takes her a moment to recover, the chill left behind from that single, slow touch sending a small shockwave through her that leaves her temporarily speechless. “Um,” she mutters amid a timid laugh. “Well… today, I mostly helped Pepper – Ms. Potts – out with some wedding arrangements.”

“That’s Stark’s fiancée?”

She nods.

“The one who used to have your job?” he asks with a teasing brow cocked.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, technically. But that was a long time ago. Now she’s the CEO of Stark Industries.”

His brows twist in confusion. “What the hell is Stark then?”

She shrugs – “Figurehead.” – then cracks a smile at her own joke. “He’s still on the board. Still has his hands in pretty much everything.” A long, languid sigh rolls out of her. “And he does a lot of charity stuff, believe it or not. You know, everyone thinks that he’s just this vapid, selfish billionaire. But he’s given away _millions_ in scholarship funds and endowments. And when he isn’t actively looking for businesses – and people – to invest in, he’s doing his own fundraising, setting up new grants and projects.” Her eyes tick away, stare shifting almost dreamily off into the distance. “He’s a really good person. Sometimes you just have to… dig a little to find it.”

Bucky nods – slowly, appreciatively – as he watches her far-off gaze with a sort of distant fondness of his own. Then, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, he asks, “Are you one of his projects?”

Her head spins round in a flash, long hair flying and settling at her shoulders, revealing a look of absolute astonishment on her face. “What?”

He laughs – nervous, stilted. “No. No, I just meant… him trying to get you a date. Or…” His forehead furrows – the expression quickly becoming one of her favorite sights – as he finishes with, “Or deciding if I was… what? Good enough to go on a date with you?”

Her shoulders relax, tension quickly melting away. “Ah, that. Yeah, well… truthfully, he’s been trying to set me up for… well about as long as I’ve known him. _All work and no play_ , he likes to say. Of course, he says that and then immediately sends me out on some impossible task that takes ‘til midnight to complete.” She shakes her head, ratcheting side to side to reset her thoughts and get back to the point. “I haven’t really dated anyone since moving to the city. And I think Tony views celibacy as some kind of personal affront. Or… sacrilege.”

“So sex is God?” he asks with a laugh.

“To Tony Stark? Yes. Sex, money, and power.”

“Yeah, he sounds like a real great guy,” he mocks. “How long have you been in the city?”

She drops her head, that beautiful blush blooming along her neck and cheeks as she utters shyly, “A little over a year. And I was commuting before that, which took up even more time. So, really… well, it’s been a while since I was… involved with anyone.”

He nods simply, lips pulling into a tight-lipped frown as he debates whether or not to tell her that, “I haven’t dated anyone in years. Haven’t gotten laid in a long-ass time either.” Then, snorting indelicately and dropping his head in a regretful shake, he mutters, “ _Shit_. Why did I say that?”

A loud and boisterous chortle spills out of her. “I don’t know. But it made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” He looks over at her, crooked smile seeming cocky on the surface, but clearly covering a bundle of nerves as he gazes up at her, bright blue eyes glistening in the dim lamplight.

“Yeah,” she confirms lightly, turning away just a bit, that beautiful stare almost too much to take.

“So, where were you commuting from?” he asks then, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Please don’t say Long Island.”

Her mouth drops, gaping wide. “Why does everyone have such a problem with Long Island?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“And I suppose you’ve always been in Brooklyn?” she snipes in return.

“Born and raised. Steve and I grew up on this same block.”

“Wow,” she mutters, a teasing lilt to the word. “So you and Steve have known each other… forever then?”

“Pretty much,” he replies, his eyes shifting away as a sudden darkness rolls over them.

She rather quickly recalls the incident from earlier, the palpable tension rolling off of him when discussing Steve taking Lana home. “And he’s… with your ex now?” she asks, showing hardly any hesitation.

Admittedly, thinking before speaking has never been one of Annie’s strong suits. Oh, she _knows_ when it’s not her place to say something. She _knows_ when subjects are better left untouched. But all too often, that little voice inside that tells her to shut her damn mouth sounds _after_ she’s already spilled. Hell, that’s how Tony found out about her little crush to begin with, when she couldn’t stop prattling on about the cute guy who fawned over her Bronco, not even thinking about who she was sharing all of this with.

Bucky hesitates, gnawing on the corner of his lip as he – presumably – thinks on what to say. And, for a moment, she fears that her big mouth may have gotten her into trouble once again. But when he does speak, he doesn’t sound angry at all, not irritated nor annoyed with her inquiry in the least. Rather he seems… earnest. Candid, even.

“He moved in with Nat a few months ago,” he starts, shifting beside her. “They’ve been dating a while.” A long, deflating sigh billows out of him and he reaches for his beer, takes a nice, long swig before going on. “Didn’t really bother me much when they started. They’re a hell of lot better matched than we ever were. But… moving in…”

Annie hikes her shoulders up a bit, sitting a little straighter, pulling herself a little closer to him before asking, “It’s just… weird?”

He nods, takes another pull, then crinkles his brow and shakes his head instead. “No. Actually it’s not. I think maybe that’s the problem. This thing with them… it’s _real_. And that means… I guess that means…” He lets out a short, sardonic laugh and slams the bottle back down onto the side table, runs his hands through his hair in an almost violent way. “I don’t know what it means.”

She licks her lips slowly, eyes still trained on his fractious face. But for once, she says nothing.

Bucky’s gaze falls to the floor as his elbows drop to his knees. “It means he gets it all,” he mutters softly, voice barely a whisper. He shrugs, lets out a long sigh. “He’ll be Svetlana’s…” he utters in an almost despondent tone. “I don’t know. More than Uncle Steve.”

She slowly shifts on the couch next to him, folding her legs up beneath her. “And that worries you?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out, sitting back and shaking his head languidly before sinking into the cushions. He stretches casually, reaching an arm back behind her and wrapping it loosely over her shoulders, the gesture seeming utterly ordinary and natural.

Without thinking, she settles in, leans her head back onto his bicep. “You trust him with her?”

Wide eyes shoot her way. “Yeah, of course. He loves her like crazy. And he’s great with her.” He looks away, gaze turning a bit pensive, melancholy even. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

“He might get to spend more time with her than you?” she asks, already knowing the answer. He bites down on his bottom lip, clearly not wanting to offer any kind of confirmation. “You mentioned that when she starts school, she’ll probably spend more time at her mom’s,” she mentions casually.

He nods, lets his lip slowly pop free from the tightly clenched teeth. “Yeah.”

“But,” she starts, turning bodily to face him. “Does he make waffles like you do? Dozens at a time with every topping imaginable?”

The tiniest smile quirks on his face. “No. No, Steve can barely boil water. When he has to feed her breakfast it’s usually donuts.”

“And what about…” she reaches down and plucks the felled princess costume from the floor, smoothing it out across her lap. “Dress up… does he play princess dress up with her?”

He cocks his head to the side, single brow raised high. “I never said _I_ play dress up with her.”

“Oh so you’ve never put on a tiara just because that little girl asked you to?” His lips press into a tight, firm line, only barely managing to hide the telling smile breaking underneath. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She gives a single, definitive nod. “And would he let her completely trash the place like this?” she asks with a smirk.

“Oh, Steve definitely would. But he lives with Natasha now and she runs a tight ship, so he’s shit outta luck there.”

She leans back again and snuggles close to him, gently running her cheek along the smooth fabric of his T-shirt as her head lazily drops to his shoulder, and then to his chest. “But could he ever be her _dad_?” she asks, feeling him stiffen beneath her for a long, agonizing moment before his muscles loosen and he lets out a sigh.

“No. No one else could be,” he says, a hint of doubt still lingering in the forlorn words.

“My sister’s on her second husband,” she blurts out then. “So I know… I mean, I can see how hard divorce is on people. Well, actually, my parents split when I was a kid too. So… yeah…” She twitches nervously and he brings his hand down off the side of the couch, lays a giant palm atop her upper arm and slowly, soothingly rakes his thumb along her shoulder.

“And you turned out okay?”

“Well, I know how to pick up after myself at least.”

He snorts out a small laugh. “Guess there’s something you can teach _me_ then, huh?”

“Guess so,” she mutters, snuggling deeper into his chest and letting her lids lazily drift shut. The soft, slow rhythm of his heart beats steadily beneath her ear, his breath warm atop her head, and before she even has the chance to second guess what’s about to happen, she drifts off to sleep.

000

He wakes her when the food arrives, shrugging off her wholehearted embarrassment when she spies a line of drool pocking his T-shirt as they get set up at the kitchen table. “I spent almost two years of my life covered in drool,” he mutters, unpacking the takeout. “Frankly, it’s the least disgusting bodily fluid I’ve gotten on me.”

Her face pinches in repulsion, rosy blush still nipping at the tops of her ears. “It’s a little different when it’s your kid, though.”

He waits for her to drop into a seat before flopping down himself, holding out a fork with one hand and a set of chopsticks with the other. “Who said all of that was from my kid?”

She chuckles shyly and plucks the proffered fork from his hand. “Good choice,” he mutters, tossing the chopsticks aside and grabbing another fork to dig into some lo mien. “No need to show off for me.”

“Oh, believe me, I wouldn’t be showing off. I’d only be embarrassing myself more.” She shovels some broccoli onto her plate, waiting patiently with a small, crooked grin as he casually reaches over to dump some fried rice out for her as well. “I went with Tony to Shanghai last month and we got hot pot. Which I had never had before.” From the corner of her eye, she continues to watch as he fills in her plate, spooning on some chicken and an eggroll. “We were halfway through the meal, I’d managed to eat _maybe_ two pieces of… whatever it was I could actually catch with the chopsticks, when the waiter came over and set down a fork beside me. Just me. No one else. Didn’t even say a word, just kind of looked at me in that way you look at a child who’s having trouble tying his shoes as you take over and do it for him. You know the way? Like, _good try, sport, but let me help you out here_.”

He lets out a hearty laugh and slumps back in his chair, finally serving himself a heaping helping of each and every dish. She continues to watch him, a soft twinkle in her eye, one that only grows when he glances up and catches her staring, his eyes shifting nervously as he asks, “What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, coy smile still pulling at the corner of her mouth. “It’s just… I don’t usually get _served_ takeout.”

“Ah, yeah,” he breathes out self-consciously, setting down the final container and absently twirling his fork between his fingers. “I guess I’m just used to making up someone’s plate when sitting down to eat.”

“It’s cute,” she quips before popping a giant chunk of chicken into her mouth.

He quirks a side-eye at her as she struggles to chew around the bite. “You want me to cut it all up for you too? I’m pretty good at it.”

She snorts out a laugh, finally swallowing everything down and finishing it off with a quick swig of lukewarm beer. “I’m sure you are. Lots of practice, I imagine.”

His lips purse, head nodding purposively, and he points at her meal with his fork, single brow raised high. “You just let me know if you need more,” he says, mirthful expression cracking at the edges of his face. “But no fortune cookie ‘til you clean your plate.”

She hums out another laugh, scoops up another forkful of food. “Do you and Lana get Chinese a lot?”

He shrugs, swallows down his bite, and mutters. “Not too much. She’ll only eat white rice. And the cookies.”

“I went through a nothing-but-white-rice phase,” she says with a slow nod.

“Yeah? When you were a kid?”

“When I was 27.”

His brows curl together, pure amusement shining through the bewilderment. And he shakes his head fondly. “So, Stark took you to China,” he muses, swirling together some of the food on his plate. “You get to travel with him a lot?”

He catches her off guard, another too-large mouthful of food being slowly macerated. She smiles shyly, lips tightly closed as she struggles to finish chewing, to steadily swallow as he stares at her with an expression of mock impatience, his bright blue eyes positively swimming in a hypnotizing sort of joy. Finally, _finally_ , she’s able to choke out, “Some. Not a lot. Just depends what he needs.”

Bucky nods, a long, languid bobbing of his head as he seems to think on her words. “You do _whatever_ he needs? I mean… like you’re at his beckon call?”

Her forehead furrows a bit, eyes narrowing. “No, not really,” she offers with a shrug. “I mean… sometimes I work kind of crazy hours. And sometimes I’ll travel with him. But he’s pretty good about… understanding.”

He cocks his head. “Understanding what?”

She lets loose with a soft chortle. “Understanding what us _real_ humans need. That man can go for days without a break. He doesn’t even need coffee to keep him going. If he’s on to something… some kind of great idea… he’ll run with it, forgoing sleep, food… making me cancel all of his appointments.” She looks back up at him, waving her empty fork absently through the air. “That’s actually the toughest part of my job… keeping track of all the excuses I’m forced to make on his behalf. Making sure no one catches us in a lie.”

He goes strangely silent for a long moment, eyes dropping to the still-full plate in front of him. “He makes you lie for him?”

The tenor of his voice makes it clear that he doesn’t like that one bit, the way his jaw stiffly sets and shifts when she chances a glance at him only confirming his disapproval. “No,” she says amid a nervous-sounding cough. “No, I mean… sometimes I have to make up excuses for him. But…” She shrugs then, realizing that, “It’s just part of the job.”

He looks up at her then, the blue of his eyes shifting in shade, making his gaze deep, bottomless, darkly profound. “Is that the job you want, Annie?” he asks, voice low and sincere.

Her mouth gapes, bobs open and closed for a moment before, “I… I don’t know,” spills out of her.

“You just… you don’t to seem to have a problem going after what you want,” he intones, dropping a short chuckle and a sly wink at the end.

She drops her head a bit, turning away to stave off the blush that she’s fairly certain would burn at any woman’s cheeks after encountering that sultry, blue-eyed wink. “Yeah, yeah,” she breathes out with a slight chuckle. “I don’t know why you even let me in here. I’m obviously stalker material.”

He shrugs, turns back to his food and absently twirls his fork through some lo mien. “I was afraid you’d find some other powerful billionaire to sic on me if I turned you down.”

“I really only know the one,” she says with a sigh. “Met others in passing, but I don’t think they’d commit like Tony did.”

He snorts out a quick laugh, taking a beat to stare absently down at his plate as he seems to mull something over in his head. “It’s just…” he mutters vaguely. “You just… seem like _you_ should be the high-powered billionaire.” A swift, surprised laugh chokes out of her, causing his lips to unconsciously quirk upwards despite his gaze never leaving the pile of food before him. “Really, though. You seem like you could do more… so much more, than just clean up after some selfish – ”

“Careful,” she interrupts, a hint of sincerity to her otherwise light tone.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m _very_ good at cleaning up after people,” she teases, slowly shoving aside a small wrench and absently rubbing at the grease smear it leaves behind on the table. “As you will see later.”

“I’m serious,” he declares, pulling his shoulders straight and tall to validate his statement. “You… you’re smart and driven… and sweet and funny. Patient.”

“Easy to talk to,” she interjects, repeating his comment from the other night, the one she immediately – and proudly – committed to memory.

He nods, rolling his eyes just a little. “Easy to talk to,” he affirms before falling silent for another long moment. “What do you _want_ to do? I mean… I’m guessing you didn’t exactly dream of being a personal assistant when you were little?”

Her brows lift and drop in rapid succession, as she takes a second to reflect. “No,” she drawls out finally. “No, when I was little I dreamt of being a _princess_.” Her eyes positively gleam as she tosses a quick glance over her shoulder at the yellow dress draped over the couch in the other room.

He snorts a laugh, shaking his head tenderly as he digs up another forkful of fried rice. “I’m gonna have to take you and Svetlana to Disney World, aren’t I?”

Her breath catches in her chest at the seemingly blasé comment. Eyes widening despite every attempt to hide her surprise – and glee – as she looks over at him. He’s busy staring at his plate, still swirling the different dishes together into some sort of Chinese mélange. She gratefully accepts the brief moment of diversion to quell her stuttering heart, clearing her throat to gather her words. “I wish someone would,” she murmurs, aiming for joking but landing somewhere in the realm of positively wistful.

If he picks up on her surprise or excitement – or her pathetic attempt at covering them – it doesn’t show, a simple, “Really though,” falling from his lips amid a quick hiss after downing the rest of his beer. He quirks his head at her, holding up his empty bottle to wordlessly ask if she’d like another. She nods and he pushes up from the table, turning to reach into the fridge, his face buried behind the open door as he asks, “Once you realized that wasn’t gonna work out, what’d you want to do?”

She waits for him to sit back down, feels her face flush when he directs all of his attention – and those deep ocean eyes – her way. “Well, um,” she sputters. “Well, I went to school… I actually have a degree in organizational psychology.”

He pulls back, face twisting into a frown. “What’s that?”

“It’s basically just applying psychological principles to the workplace. I found it interesting. You know… figuring out how people operate, how best to communicate with them, how to determine if they fit into certain workplace dynamics.” She shrugs. “But I didn’t really give much thought to what I might _do_ with it.”

“What _can_ you do with it?”

She hums thoughtfully, dropping her chin to her open palm. “I could do something in human resources… maybe consulting. Could always go back and get my masters too, I guess.” She shrugs again before pulling upright and returning to her food. “I don’t know.”

He blows a long, slow breath out of his nose and leans back in his chair, his gaze still trained on her. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised about the psych part.” She raises an inquiring brow at him, forkful of rice halfway to her mouth. “You’ve obviously psychoanalyzed the shit outta Stark. You got me to talk about stuff that… that I _don’t_ talk about.” He takes a quick swig of his beer and tips the bottle towards her. “You got a gift there, Annie.”

Her face remains slack and emotionless as her gut fills with an odd mix of pride and delight… and trepidation. It’s strange, talking about this side of herself… this part of her life that she’d made off limits with her family some time ago – quickly tiring of their inquiries about just what she planned to do with her life. But the truth is, this is something she’s been thinking about a lot lately, questioning ever since she made the decision to move out to the city and devote herself wholly to being Tony Stark’s aide. Because a part of her – a big part of her – took that leap in the hopes that working for the brilliant entrepreneur might somehow lead to something more.

The only problem is, she doesn’t have a clue what that _more_ might be.

Bucky shifts in his seat, setting down his beer and picking back up his fork, shoving it indelicately into the kung pow chicken on his plate. “If you’re happy doing what you’re doing, just ignore me,” he says before taking a huge mouthful.

She watches him with a deep sort of interest, as though this veritable stranger might just be able to help her find her path in life. Maybe. Somehow. “When did you know you wanted to be a mechanic?” she asks simply.

He shrugs, swallows down his food. “I didn’t. I just… _was_. I mean, I like cars. I guess I’m good at it.” Another blithe shrug. “I worked at a garage for a while as a kid and then… I don’t know… Steve started talking about starting up our own. I guess I figured… why not?”

“ _Why not_?” she repeats dully. “You chose a career, invested in a business… cemented your life in place, and you’re reasoning behind it was _why not_?”

He smiles slyly at her, the expression causing a pool of warmth to gather in her gut. “Sometimes that’s all there is to it, doll. You don’t have to overthink everything. Sometimes things happen – an offer on a garage or an unplanned baby or… what the hell ever – and you just gotta decide to either roll with it or… I don’t know, shut it all down.”

“And you rolled with it,” she mutters, more so to herself as she mulls over his words.

“Yeah,” he breathes out amid a soft laugh. “Sometimes that’s the way to go. So you don’t miss out on something… great. Sometimes you just gotta say to yourself, _why the hell not?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, if anyone _wanted_ to comment... I wouldn't stop you... 😉


	6. Chapter Six

The next morning passes in an odd – and oddly _wonderful_ – whirlwind.

Annie wakes with a jolt, landing face first on a foreign floor, some sort of Lego action figure stabbing into her palm when she tries to right herself. “Oooow,” she moans, languidly shoving away the offending toy and rolling over onto her back. She cracks a single eye open, squinting to see the edge of the overstuffed couch she only vaguely remembers snuggling back into after dinner – and several beers – the night before. Another small moan escapes her as she drops her forearm across her eyes to block out the early morning sun beaming in through the wide-open curtains across the room.

Light, plodding footsteps sound in her periphery, a rather amused, “Hey, doll,” rumbling through the still air of the room.

Her arm shifts and again she cracks open just one eye, sneering as the sun works to blind her. She cocks her head to the side and blinks repeatedly, anxious to solidify his bleary form, to confirm that the smug-as-hell smile she hears in his voice is in fact perched across Bucky’s lips as he looms at the end of the sofa.

“I though you said the couch was good,” he teases brightly, his tone far too cheery for so early in the morning. “Not sure why you chose the floor.”

She shifts and rolls, slowly – very slowly – pulling herself upright and leaning back against the couch. “I fell,” she mutters, rubbing her fists into her painfully dry eyes. She peels them away with a grimace, stares down at her hands with suspicion, as though they had somehow caused her the discomfort. “And I slept with my contacts in.”

His voice is a bit more distant, emanating from the other room perhaps – she honestly still can’t quite see – when he asks, “You wear contacts?”

“Yeah,” she sighs out, pulling herself up onto the cushions and gathering the blanket that he had handed her the night before, his hesitant offer replaying in soft echoes – _You sure you don’t want to crash in my bed? I mean… and I’ll stay out here? Or you can take Lana’s… she’s got an army of stuffed animals to guard you all night… keep you safe_ – as she lazily crumples the cover and positions it beneath her cheek. Her face twists, brows knitting tightly together as she blinks heavily a few more times, trying to seat the contacts in place, hoping the burning will stop. “Is that a turn off for you?”

By the time she opens her now red and watery eyes, he’s magically by her side, two mugs of coffee in hand. She sits upright and he offers her one, a wicked little grin just barely hiding behind the lip of his own mug as he takes a single, steamy sip. “Contacts? No.” He shrugs. “That hair though? Well, if that doesn’t turn a guy off, nothing will.”

She pulls in a sharp breath, almost a squeak, and reaches up to feel the wildly tousled rat’s nest piled on the top of her head. “Shit,” drawls out of her, a long, regretful moan. She hands him back the mug of coffee and bolts up, making a beeline for the bathroom, harshly tugging at the deeply embedded ponytail holder as she goes.

“I’m only kidding, doll,” he calls after her, doing little to hide the gentle chuckles pulling from his chest. He follows her down the hall, leans lazily back against the wall – double fisting their coffees – and watches her through the open bathroom door as she studies herself in the mirror. Red eyes narrowed and rapidly blinking, she finally manages to pull out the rubber band and begin picking at one of the more gnarly knots left in its wake. “Can you even see what you’re doing?” he asks, cocking his head and watching with a mirth-filled gaze as she inclines closer to the mirror.

“No,” she despairs finally, dropping her hands and frowning at the blurry mess of a reflection.

Bucky lets out another little laugh and scoots into the small room behind her, delicately stepping over a felled towel. He sets down the mugs on the cluttered countertop and ticks his chin towards them. “I didn’t know how you like it,” he says, leaning over and grabbing a bottle of detangler from off the side of the tub. “But there’s milk and sugar, if you want.”

“Black’s fine,” she breathes out, reaching for one of the mugs. “Like my soul.”

“Sure,” he smirks, an utterly disbelieving expression showing in the mirror as he steps back behind her and begins to spray down her hair.

A single, luscious sip of the thick, dark liquid is all it takes for Annie’s senses to begin to waken, to register the heat permeating off the body at her back and the heavenly smell of the coffee in her hand, the delicate scent of the detangler spurting out behind her curling round it. Her red-rimmed eyes remain trained on the man in the mirror as he thoroughly wets down her wild locks in Johnson & Johnson spray. “You gonna comb it out for me too?” she asks, cocking a teasing eyebrow high.

He glances up at her in the mirror, wiggling his own brows in response as he holds up a bright pink brush, pressed-on Disney princess stickers peeling from its back. “I’ll have you know, I’m an expert at this. You’re damn lucky I’m here.”

She stifles a laugh – can’t quite hide the beaming smile, though – and takes another sip of her coffee before leaning back her head and letting him brush through her hair. “Just full of surprises,” she quips lightly as he makes quick work of the thick tangles.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he mutters behind her, his face set and stern as he focuses on the task at hand.

He’s not lying when he says he’s an expert at detangling. She barely feels a thing as he brushes through, firmly laying an open palm at the back of her skull as he runs down the length of her tresses. She finds herself wondering how bad Lana’s thick, curly hair must get that he’s managed to gain enough practice to perfect these moves. It’s sweet, she thinks to herself, her gently waking mind beginning to wander.

She hadn’t known that he was a father when her crush on Bucky first sprang to life a handful of months ago, didn’t realize that there was a little girl who sat at the very center of his world. But meeting Lana that day at the garage – and seeing the two of them together – very quickly made her realize that there was no _him_ without _her_.

And she _liked_ that.

Annie had never dated a single dad before, never sought one out… nor avoided them like the plague, unlike so many of her friends. Aside from the handful of failed attempts her father made at getting back into the scene, the only real experience she’d ever had with _dating dads_ was when her college roommate found out that her boyfriend had a kid he’d never told her about. She’ll never forget sitting on the dingy dormitory floor with her, lamenting in tandem how awful it was that this man had effectively hidden the fact that he had a young son from her for _months_. It wasn’t even the lying and secrecy that troubled Annie so much – though her friend was pretty damn upset about that part. It was the fact that anyone could compartmentalize a _child_. The fact that he could so easily separate the two sides of himself – the father and the boyfriend, the caregiver and the lover – made her question his overall integrity… and his virtue as a human being.

The truth is, any man who’s able to so easily disentangle himself from his own kid – to swiftly abandon such responsibility and _love_ – isn’t a man she’d care to get to know further. But Bucky? He’s been nothing but utterly transparent – not only about just _having_ a daughter, but about the role she plays in his life… in _who he_ _is_. And damn if that doesn’t set off a budding excitement deep down inside that makes her desperate to know _more_.

She glances back at his reflection in the mirror, sees his eyes narrowing in deep concentration as he works his way through the final, most unruly knot of all. Her still bleary eyes take in the thick wave to his own hair. And she bites down on her bottom lip to suppress the urge to reach back and run her hands through it.

It’s no more than a few minutes before he frees her, setting down the big, pink brush and offering an accomplished nod before picking his coffee back up and sidestepping out the door. “Better take out those contacts,” he tosses over his shoulder, never catching – thankfully – the hooded desire clouding her gaze.

She frowns suddenly, blinking around the fire in her eyes. “I don’t have another pair,” she mumbles blankly. “Or my glasses.”

He pops his head back into the bathroom, wide grin on his face as he says slyly, “Guess I’ll just have to drive you home in the Cobra myself, then. Wouldn’t want you wrecking such a beauty.”

000

He does drive the Cobra, in fact. Though not back to her place. By the time they’re ready to go – sugary cereal and another cup of coffee filling them both up – it’s late enough that she begs him to just take her straight into work.

He shakes his head in a sort of disappointed chide, no doubt wanting to reprimand her for spending too much time at work – at least, she assumes that’s the case, because his expression mirrors her sister’s perfectly when she confronts her over that heavily debated issue. But he agrees nonetheless, wide grin never leaving his face as he drives the _perfect_ convertible deep into Manhattan, down to the Stark Industries tower at its heart.

Annie rushes off to her office to change – pulling her glasses from her desk too so she can finally see – and returns with an out-of-breath _thank you_ , a bright and beaming smile, and a nervous, delicate kiss to his cheek. She arranges to have a town car take him back to the garage – “There are always snacks in the back,” she tells him sneakily. “Be sure to grab some cookies for Lana before you get out.” – and lingers out on the sidewalk, waving goodbye as it pulls away.

He texts – no more than thirty seconds later – asking if he can take her to dinner. _Tonight… tomorrow… any damn night of the week._

She’s about to text him back – thumbs lingering over the phone, bottom lip pulled taut between her teeth, only barely staving off the wide smile tugging at her face – when an all too familiar voice sounds playfully – and a bit intrusively – from the doorway. “Whatcha doin’?” Tony asks, watching her with more than a hint of amusement as she perches with her hip atop her desk, staring longing down at the phone in her hand.

She lets out a small, surprised gasp, eyes shooting up to see him leaning lazily on the doorjamb, ankles and arms both casually crossed. “Tony,” she mutters by way of _hello_. Or perhaps by way of _fuck off_.

He unfolds his limbs and saunters into the small office. “Saw you come in on the security cam,” he says, idly raking a finger over the side of her desk as he approaches. He sidles up beside her, leans on the dark oak with his hip butting up next to hers, and reaches out to give a small tug at the gray suit jacket she only just put on. “Didn’t look like you were wearing this.” He raises a curious – and also rather _knowing_ – brow. “Looked more like you were wearing the same thing you had on yesterday.”

She shifts to face him, narrowing her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Sri Lanka?”

He shrugs – “Left last night.” – and swipes at his palms in a gesture of finality. “Made the deal… moved on.”

She pulls away and circles the desk to drop down into the small office chair behind it. “These are the kinds of things you should keep me in the loop on, you know?” she mutters, entering in her password and quickly scrolling through the daily and weekly schedule on her computer. “Looks like you were supposed to have a nine o’clock with the CEO of – ”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts blithely, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “I canceled it. It’s fine. No messes for you to clean up this time. I promise.” She raises a wary brow. “I _promise._ ”

“Alright,” she capitulates, swiftly pushing the thick-rimmed glasses back up her nose. “In that case, you should probably check in with Pepper and see what she needs you to do.”

He lets out a loud _psh_. “She’s got it under control.”

Annie looks up at him from over the top of the glasses. “Tony, your wedding is in a month.”

“Six weeks,” he argues blandly. “Six _and a half_ weeks.” He slides to the very corner of the desk, twisting further to face her as a sly expression takes over her face. “And don’t you try to distract me from your love life by citing my own. I’m not that easily swayed.”

Her head drops, eyes turning back to the computer screen before her as she lets out a warning, “Tony.”

“I checked on the Cobra first,” he goes on, unaffected by her lame threat. “Everything looks good.” He shrugs. “I didn’t _notice_ any bodily fluids anywhere, but… should I get the blacklight?”

“Tony!” she shrieks, jolting upright in her chair. A bright blush shoots up her neck, causing him to almost giggle with delight.

“Is that a _no_?”

She releases a small, rather despondent-sounding grunt. “No. Of course you don’t need a… blacklight. _God_. Who do you think I am?”

He shrugs, absently fiddling with the pens kept in the _Good Morning, Sunshine!_ mug at the corner of her desk. He frowns down at the far too jolly smiling sun on the cup and mutters, “I think you’re a woman who needs to get laid.”

She leans back with a huff. “Tony, we’ve had this discussion. You can’t say things like that to an employee.”

“One day I’m going to put you in charge of HR,” he says, his tone almost threatening.

She settles a stern stare on him and begins a slow, steady rock in her chair. “Maybe I’d like to head up HR.”

He waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Nah, you like people too much to be one of those soul crushers. You’re better than that.” He pushes off the desk and waggles a pointed finger at her. “You,” he intones deliberately. “I have _plans_ for you.”

“Well,” she breathes out, pulling herself back up to her desk and shooting a quick glance at the chiming reminder on her computer. “I hope that someday you’ll tell me about them.” Her eyes fixate on the new emails – nothing of any import, but a decent distraction all the same – as something churns and whirs with anticipation deep down in her gut.

“Someday I will,” he announces. “But in the meantime, I want you to at least _try_ to focus on your personal life. I mean… not so much that you’re not here for me every time I need you…”

“So, every minute of the day?” she chirps with a sardonic lilt.

“ _But_ … well, I think you should at least try to find someone worthwhile to bring to my wedding.”

She looks up at him, a bemused expression building as a small grin grows. “Are you saying I should ask Bucky to be my plus one?”

He rolls his eyes – “No.” – and then drops a languid sigh. “I don’t know, kid. Are you sure about this one?” Her brows tug together confusedly, sparking a slight chuckle from her boss. “I get that the whole _mechanic_ thing is a turn on for you. And, sure… I’ve seen the guy…” His face pulls into a teasing smirk, brows wiggling wildly. “Hot to trot.”

“Tony,” she chokes out amid a soft, bubbling chortle.

“ _But_ ,” he goes on, tone turning somber. “He’s got a kid. And an ex. And that’s a lot of baggage for someone your age.”

“I’m almost thirty,” she tells him pointedly.

“Which is _young_. Trust me.”

“Tony,” she starts, tone matter of fact. “I’m okay with the kid. And the ex… although, I haven’t actually met her yet.” She drops a quick shrug.

He stares at her for a long moment, pensive expression settling on his face. “You’ll never come first, you know,” he utters finally, a tenderness to his voice. “I think you deserve to come first.”

Her eyes shift away from his achingly sincere stare. And she shrugs again, a tightness in her shoulders anchoring the forced casual gesture as she lets his words seep into her. “We’ve only been on a couple of dates anyway,” she intones softly. “It’s not like… it’s not like I’m _expecting_ anything. We’re just… having fun.”

He nods, lips pursing. “Fun is good. You deserve fun too.”

Her lips quirk into a crooked smirk. “I deserve so much,” she mocks lightly.

He raises a brow, gives her as stern a look as he can muster. “I’m just trying to look out for you, kid.”

“I know,” she capitulates easily. “But, like I said, right now… this isn’t anything… serious. It’s not like you need to start your security checks just yet.”

“Oh, I ran those weeks ago. He’s clean. Mostly. One arrest in his early twenties… drunken disorderly. But… who among us, am I right?” She raises a rather rebuking brow. “Yeah. No, not you, obviously. Which is kind of my point. You’re… _good_ , Annie. And that means you deserve _good_. And I’m not saying that this _Bucky_ isn’t good. I’m just saying that you need to make sure he’s… good for _you._ Before you let yourself get too charmed. I met him, remember?” He shrugs, that teasing glint returning to his eye. “I was _charmed_.”

“Okay, Tony. Thank you,” she says, rising from her seat and taking hold of his arm. “Thank you for your concern. And for your… wisdom.”

He spins as she ushers him to the door. “Thank you for seeing that I’m so wise.”

She gives him a small shove out into the hall, soft chuckle spilling from her lips as she says, “I promise to be careful. Okay?”

He snorts in response, tiniest grin pulling at his lips, and he cocks his chin toward the cell left abandoned on her desk. “Better go text him back,” he intones lightly. “Nothing kills a budding romance like ghosting a potential suitor right after spending the night with him.”

000

By the time Bucky makes it back to Brooklyn, it’s after nine, the shop already having been open for over an hour, though he has a hard time feeling guilty about being late after Steve’s blatant tardiness the day before. Until, that is, a long and drawn-out whine greets him the moment he steps through the door.

“Daddy,” Svetlana drones as she hops directly into his path. Her tiny hands are tightly fisted, resting on her hips as she stares him down with an overdone frown. “You’re late!”

He stops short and quickly bends over to sweep her up into his arms. “I know, baby doll,” he breathes out gently. “I’m sorry.” He gives her a little jostle – and a wide, wily smile – as he moves towards the counter where Steve stands, finishing up with a drop-off. He glances to the side and sees a giant donut box sitting open on the counter next to a half-empty bottle of apple juice, and he rolls his eyes at his friend’s utterly predicable attempt at breakfast.

Steve shoots Bucky a grin and tells the man in front of him – who looks way too damn old to be driving – that his Caddy should be ready by four. Then, after nodding a thanks to the old man and turning his attention entirely to his friend, he cocks a teasing brow and asks, “Where were you?” The question comes out with more than a hint of innuendo, his bright blue eyes positively gleaming as he waits for a response.

Bucky merely shrugs, still too preoccupied with erasing the glum look from his little girl’s face. “Did you miss me that much?” he asks Lana, pressing his lips into her curls and breathing in the soft scent of lavender baby shampoo. She says nothing, simply nods and wraps her arms tight around his neck, curling in close. “You smell good,” he prattles into her hair. “You get a bath last night?”

“Yeah,” she sighs out, voice sounding oddly dejected. He gives her another light bounce and she lets go of his neck, pulls back from him a bit so she can look him in the eye when she declares, “I like it at mama’s because… ‘cause… I can be a fish. Or a turtle. Or… or…” She spins in his grip and looks to Steve for guidance.

“A mermaid,” he croons with a wide grin as he leans casually over the counter.

“Yeah.” She shoves her hair out of her eyes, a hint of frustration blooming in her still-sour face as she squints at the sun filtering in through the wall of windows. “But… but… she don’t have all the bubbles.”

He smiles to himself, thinking about the absolutely astounded look on his baby’s face when he brought home a bubble bath variety pack a few weeks back. “Well, we can’t all be perfect,” he mutters lightly as she curls into him once again, scrunching her face and shifting to bury herself deeper into his chest. She huffs out an irritated breath and he glances up at Steve, shooting him a questioning look.

He lets out a long sigh. “ _Somebody_ didn’t want to go to bed last night,” he explains, raising an accusatory brow as he ducks his head to peek at the well-hidden little girl. “Too excited to hang out with mommy.”

She lets out a small grunt and tucks herself further into Bucky, rubbing her face into his chest as she turns away from Steve with apparent disdain.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky mumbles, hiking her a bit higher with his left arm as his right hand winds into her dark hair. “And Natasha was too happy to be back home to tell her she had to go to bed.” Steve’s lips quirk down as he lets out a casual shrug. “And even though this baby is tired as can be, you filled her up on sugar,” he says, eyes ticking towards the mostly empty donut box on the counter. “Am I right?”

“Svetlana,” he utters, voice a low, conspiratorial whisper as he tries once again to reach her. “I think your dad is on to us.”

Bucky merely rolls his eyes as his hips begin a slow sway, the little girl’s body growing steadily heavier in his arms as he gently rocks her.

“Either that,” Steve starts again, teasing glint returning to his gaze, “or he’s just using you to avoid telling us where he was all morning.”

“I texted to tell you I’d be late,” he returns, the words spilling softly from his lips, just above the crown of Lana’s head.

“You did,” he hums with a nod. “But that still doesn’t answer the question… where were you? And _who_ were you with?”

Another eyeroll, this one even deeper. Yet he can’t quite keep the small, crooked smile from splitting his face, even as he offers a short snort in response. He turns away from Steve and pulls back a bit, ducking his chin to look down at his little girl, her tired, glassy eyes still open and blinking up at him. “What else did you do last night, huh, baby?” he asks, eager to avoid the knowing smirk plastered across his friend’s face.

But of course, Steve’s not one to back down. Not ever. Hell, if he knew how to effectively shut that guy up, he’d have been able to save him from his fair share of ass beatings… probably would’ve been able to save himself from a few as well. “What did _you_ do last night?” the blond counters cheekily, winking over at the pair.

Lana lets out a long yawn, ignores her uncle entirely, and tells Bucky, “We had spaghetti and meatballs. And then dinosaurs.”

“You had dinosaurs?” he asks, eyes widening as he gazes down at her. “Did Steve put ‘em on the grill for you, or did you have to eat ‘em raw?”

“No, daddy,” she says, leaning back in his grip again and slapping him dully in the chest. “They’re on TV.”

“We watched a movie,” Steve corrects with a soft laugh.

He looks up at him with an accusatory note. “Please tell me it wasn’t Jurassic Park.”

He scoffs. “Are you nuts? She’s with us for the next three days. I’d only show her something that’ll give her nightmares on a night that _you_ have her.”

“Littlefoot,” Lana murmurs softly before pressing her thumb into her mouth, tucking herself back into her father’s hold, and letting her eyes finally flutter shut.

Bucky huffs out a sigh, his hips still absently swaying in a soothing rhythm for the girl in his arms. “I hope you’re happy,” he whispers over the top of her head as she burrows deeper into his chest. “She’s not gonna nap this afternoon now.” He sets off for the back office, taking short, lazy steps along the way.

Steve follows hot on his heels. “S’fine,” he offers with a shrug, hopping in front of him to swing open the door. He turns and digs around in the corner, eager to find the fleece Cars blanket that lives here for just these occasions. “That’s pre-K’s problem.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky mutters, pacing slowly back and forth in the small space for a few minutes more. He coos gently to the baby in his arms, pressing his nose to her hair and giving her the occasional small bounce, a habit picked up from when she was so tiny and delicate – and also _loud as fuck_. He’d had no idea that a baby’s wails could reach that earsplitting decibel, nor that he would ever be so desperate to make a noise _stop_. Natasha’s presence seemed to calm her right away, back in those first days and weeks. But Bucky… he had to _work_ for it, building different routines of pacing and swaying, rocking and bouncing, shushing and cooing until _finally_ some combination of them all might get her to settle.

Steve waits until he can hear the small, telltale snores of sleep emanating from the little girl, and he steps back to let Bucky gently deposit her onto the sofa by the window. Then he drapes the blanket over her, tucking it loosely around her curled-up form. “I’m gonna have to call them and tell them she’ll be in late,” he mumbles to himself before pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs distractedly as he waits for Steve to follow him out of the office so he can pull the door _most of the way_ shut. They step back over to the counter at the front of the shop and he pats down his pockets, just now remembering the cookies he’d stashed from the town car. He pulls them out and drops them into the open box of donuts before plucking the last remaining blueberry cruller and biting into it.

“Uh,” Steve starts, staring blankly at the cookies. “Where did those come from?”

He swallows down the pastry and glares at his friend for a moment, seeming to think long and hard about just how much he really wants to share, unsure if it might come back to bite him. Ultimately, though… “Annie stayed the night and she slept with her contacts in… couldn’t really see in the morning, so I drove her to work and she sent me here in a town car. Which had snacks,” spills swiftly out of him. Then he shrugs, casual as can be, and shoves the rest of the donut into his mouth.

Steve stares, slack jawed and silent, the corners of his lips ever so slowly rising into a coy smile. “She stayed the night?” he asks, shoulders pulling back and face taking on an almost exhilarated glow.

“Relax, pal,” he tells him, scrubbing his sticky hands clean with a loose napkin and reaching around the counter for a bottle of water. “She slept on the couch.”

His brows curl together. “Okay… but _before_ she hit the couch…”

Bucky can’t help the playful grin that graces his features, his head shaking back and forth as he watches his friend rock expectantly on the balls of his feet, excitedly fishing for gossip. “What, now that you’re all _settled_ , you need to live vicariously through someone else?”

“I’ve always lived vicariously through you, Buck,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And besides, I’m not excited for _me_ , I’m excited for _you_.”

“Really?” he asks, voice swimming in cynicism.

Steve pulls back a bit, face tightening, genuinely affronted. “Yeah, really.”

Bucky merely takes a long pull of the water, nodding absently but saying nothing in return.

“What, you think…” He shakes his head, confusion washing over his features. Confusion and… dismay. “I don’t get it,” he says softly. “I like Annie. I mean, I only just met her. But she seems great. And you… you deserve someone great.”

He gives him a bit of a snake-eyed glare, eyes narrowed incredulously. “Someone great or just _someone_?”

“What? Buck… what are you talking about?”

“C’mon,” he says, a bit of nonchalance slipping into his otherwise stilted tone. “You and Nat want me to find someone so you don’t have to keep feeling guilty.”

Steve’s eyes blow wide. “Uh, no. No, that’s not it at all.” He looks across the counter at his friend, solemnity clouding the piercing blue of his eyes. “We don’t feel _guilty_. Not anymore, anyway. I thought… I thought we were past that.”

Bucky swallows thickly, his breath stuttering in his chest. “I… we are… but…”

He shakes his head languidly, a bit of a frown tugging at his lips. “Buck, we just want you to be happy. And not because… because we feel guilty or, I don’t know, _bad_ about anything that happened. Because the way things happened… You and Nat had been broken up for a long time.”

“I know that,” he interjects stiffly.

“We want you to be happy because we love you.”

His eyes shift away, gaze turning down towards the counter and focusing on each and every chip and scuff that mars its surface. “I know,” he admits, sounding all too regretful. He looks up after a moment, feeling Steve’s eyes boring into him the entire time. “I know,” he says again with a tight nod.

He raises a brow and offers a quick nod himself, a wordless, _good, glad you get it_. And he asks again, “So, what did you do last night?”

Bucky lets out a long, deflating sigh, shoulders drooping as he drops his elbows to the counter and leans heavily atop it. “We… I don’t know,” he mutters, almost sounding as though the whole thing is just too _painful_ to talk about.

Steve groans. “You know, back in the day, you had no problem telling me all about your sexual escapades. Even when I – _politely_ – asked you to shut the hell up about them.”

“First of all,” he intones, raising a brow at the man across from him, “I mostly did that _because_ you told me to shut the hell up.” A small shit-eating grin tugs at his lips. “You’d blush so hard,” he teases with a short chuckle.

“Shaddup.”

“Second of all,” he announces, pulling himself upright, “there were no _sexual escapades_. Get your mind outta the gutter.”

He shrugs. “So what did you guys do? I wanna know. I gotta see how it stacks up to my night with spaghetti and mermaids and dinosaurs.” He cocks a brow and ticks a sly smile. “We also had a magical tea party before bath time. Can you beat that?”

He thinks about the princess dress – and the fairy wand that Annie found just after dinner and _used_ on him, casting magical spells that resulted in a rather weird and kind of lame game of truth or dare – and he grins to himself, cradling the memory deep down inside. “No. Can’t quite beat that.”

“But… you said you drove the Cobra this morning?”

“Yeah,” he returns, a bright sort of enthusiasm washing over him. “And a little last night.” He gives a subtle shrug. “Annie was pretty tired after we stopped for ice cream, so she let me drive for a bit.”

“Back to your place?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes, back to my place. Where we talked, ate Chinese food, and went to sleep. Then I helped get her to work this morning, and… that’s it.”

He lets out an almost surprised sounding, “Hm,” earning him little more than a questioning look from his friend, a rather _impatient_ look, truth be told. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned _talking_ to a girl in a long time,” he says then, expression thoughtful.

Bucky’s countenance cracks, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Well, it seems like every date you’ve been on over the last few years has either been a disaster or, you know… a one night stand. I don’t think I’ve heard you say that you’ve spent time actually _talking_ to someone in a while.”

His eyes tick nervously away. “I guess.”

“And you liked it?”

“Talking to her? Yeah, sure. I told you, she’s nice.”

Steve nods, brilliant smile pulling across his face. “So you’re going to see her again? I mean, two dates filled with _talking_ … this could be big.”

The expression on his face is so over-the-top excited that Bucky can’t help but laugh, even through the rather intense eyeroll. “Yeah, I’m gonna see her again,” he replies, corners of his mouth shifting and setting into a beaming grin. “I like her. Alright? Is that what you want me to say? You want me to admit that I like her?”

He laughs as well – bright and buoyant – nodding all the while. “Yeah, man. That’s _exactly_ what I want you to say.”


	7. Chapter Seven

It’s barely eight when the doorbell rings, Natasha – always an early riser and typically at least fifteen minutes ahead of schedule for _every single_ drop off – tapping her foot impatiently and greeting him with nothing more than a raised brow when he swings open the door. Before so much as a _hello_ can be uttered, a tiny whirlwind of dark hair and pure energy darts past him, dodging his legs and making for the back corner of the living room before skidding to an almost cartoonish halt.

Bucky watches her fly by with a rather amused smirk, holding in a laugh when she turns to him with eyes the size of saucers. “Daddy,” Lana starts, a highly suspicious note to her voice. “Where’s everything?”

He still hasn’t said a word – not so much as a _hi_ or _welcome, nice to see you_ … not even _come in_ – but that doesn’t stop Natasha from shoving past him and scouting out his newly spotless abode. “It looks nice in here,” she announces, turning in a slow circle as she scans the clean room, taking in the absolute lack of clutter. She ticks her chin toward the new shelving in the corner – yellow, pink, and blue cloth cubes stacked just two high so that little hands can reach – and she smiles. “Clearly, you didn’t do this on your own.”

He tosses her an annoyed glare – his hands already at Lana’s back, guiding her over to the newly designated toy area in the corner – and snorts in response before pulling out one of the cube drawers to show off the dolls inside. “See, baby,” he says to the little girl, voice devoid of any of the irritation being saved up for her mother. “All your stuff’s put away. And when you’re done playing, we’ll put it all back into the little cubbies. Okay?”

She reaches into the cube and pulls out a naked baby doll, gives it a rather disgusted look and chucks it across the room before digging through for more. “Okay,” she says, tossing another toy and finally dumping the entire box onto the floor.

Bucky stands and rolls his eyes, lets out an exhausted-sounding breath, and turns back to the smirking redhead at the center of the room. “I tried,” he shrugs.

Her head moves languidly to-and-fro as she steps into the kitchen, running her fingers over the pristine countertop. He follows, arms crossed tightly over his chest, frown tugging at his lips. “So,” she intones finally, spinning to face him and casually leaning a hip into the counter. “I take it _Annie_ knows how to clean?”

Well, yes, of course, this was Annie’s doing. Bucky merely supplied the credit card at the home goods store and otherwise did exactly as she directed. _Just, grab that one_. _No, we’re building it horizontally… give me the drill. Just… go vacuum or something._

Of course it was all her, every bit of it. From the grand ideas that tumbled excitedly from her lips when she greeted him Monday evening – _Monday_ because her schedule was nuts and he’d take whatever he was able to get over these last few weeks – sweeping into his place with a tape measure and a stack of old home improvement magazines. To her edict that they had to group all of the toys by type, size, and… some sort of female logic that he was utterly incapable of understanding. _Dress-up clothes and doll clothes go in separate cubbies. They are_ entirely _different things, Buck. Really._

So, no, it wasn’t crazy for Nat to insinuate that someone else had a hand in this. But _Annie_? Well, that’s a name he hadn’t yet mentioned to her. So imagine his surprise when it so casually drips from her tongue. “What did Steve tell you?” he asks shiftily, another indignant snort rolling out of him as he narrows his eyes and leans heavily into the counter opposite her.

She shrugs coolly, her demeanor calm and devoid of any tells… save one. After ten years of friendship – and a couple not-so-great years of marriage – Bucky had become rather well acquainted with Natasha’s face, her expressions… her lips. She could’ve been a spy with that unreadable look and casual stance, that unflappable manner – not to mention the downright _scary_ way she issues threats and ultimatums – if it weren’t for just one little thing that always manages to give her away. The smallest, softest quirk of her lips suggesting that she knows _everything_.

Bucky shakes his head and lets out a easy chuckle. “What?”

Her not-so-well-hidden smirk grows. “He said that you went out with a woman named Annie. I just assumed – since we all know you’re a huge slob – that she’s the one responsible for cleaning all this up. Which is… nice,” she mutters with a tick of her shoulder. “That you found a girl who can clean.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s sexist or just plain demeaning towards me.”

Another shrug. “Probably both.” She leans out a bit – over the breakfast bar – to catch a peek of the little girl playing in the other room. “He said that Svetlana met her?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, she came into the shop. She’s a customer.”

“Ah, yes,” she breathes out casually. “What was it? Some kind of old truck or something?”

“A Bronco,” he laughs out. “You guys talk just lay in bed at night talking about me?”

She raises a brow, sly smirk returning. “Yes, James. Steve and I lie in bed at night and talk about _you_ … nothing but you. And cars.” She rolls her eyes rather dramatically. “You boys and your cars.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Figured as much.”

“Anyway,” she singsongs. “Svetlana met her… And she likes her?”

“Lana?” he asks, forehead scrunched. “You’d have to ask her.”

“No,” she mutters, turning back to him with a now _amused_ roll of her eyes. “Did _Annie_ like _Svetlana_?”

“Oh,” he chirps, stopping for a surprised beat. “Yeah. I guess so. What’s not to like?”

Just then a small crash sounds from the other room, followed swiftly by the clattering of tiny plastic pieces hitting the floor. Legos. It’s a sound Bucky’s all too acquainted with. Dozens and dozens of Legos have just been dumped unceremoniously across his previously pristine wood floor. He shifts his eyes into the other room for just a fraction of second to check on Lana – to catch her delightedly sliding her arms out across the new mess – before shutting them tight in an unintended wince.

“Yeah,” Nat intones brightly. “What’s not to like?” She shoves off of the counter and steps over to his refrigerator, inspecting the contents, just like she does every time she drops the kid off. “I just don’t want a repeat of that last one,” she says, words spilling into the cold air of the mostly empty fridge.

“The last one?” he questions, reaching around and pulling her away before shoving the door closed.

She stands upright – straight and tall despite her petite stature – and raises a brow. “The one who acted like she hadn’t spoken to a child since she’d been one herself. Which, granted, was probably just a week or so before you met her,” she issues with a sarcastic lilt.

“Olivia?” he asks, expression still a mask of confusion. “She wasn’t… She didn’t even… I mean…”

A short laugh bubbles out of Natasha as she holds up a hand to stop him from continuing his sputter. “Look, here’s the deal. Steve said you like this girl.” She stops short, face twisting for a moment before she asks, “Girl? How old is this one?”

“This one?” he repeats with an annoyed eyeroll.

“You have a… propensity, Barnes,” she jibes with a shrug.

His blue eyes slice through her, anger and amusement tangling together within the steely stare as he counters with, “You have zero tact, Romanov.”

“I’m just curious,” she defends. “You said she’s a customer? So I guess she’s old enough to drive at least.”

He rolls his eyes again, the action starting to set off a deep ache in his skull. “She’s twenty eight,” he mutters blankly.

“Oh, so an actual adult. Good for you.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not really. _Anyway_ … Steve said that you really like her. So I just wanted to make sure that she was good with Svetlana.”

His expression takes on a hard edge as he stares her down. “You think I would let someone in my life, let someone in _hers_ , who wasn’t… _good_?”

“No,” she issues out amid a soft laugh and a subtle shake of her head. “No, that wasn’t what I meant.” A real and true – almost wistful – smile blooms across her face. “So defensive. You’re not always under attack, James.”

“Don’t call me that,” he mumbles, more than a hint of petulance to his tone.

“I just wanted to make sure that she’s _good_ with the fact that you have a daughter. I wouldn’t want you to get close… get attached… just to find out that she can’t handle it.”

He shrugs. “She likes kids. Talks about her niece all the time.”

“Well, there’s a big difference between liking kids and having one be a part of your life.”

His head falls back as he lets out a dramatic sigh. “Jesus, Nat, are you planning our wedding already? I just met this girl. We’ve been on like four dates.”

She shrugs. “We never went on even _one_ date and you married me.”

“Yeah, because I knocked you up. Trust me, that’s not happening here.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, eyes blowing wide with delight. “Do tell. You haven’t slept with this _Annie_?”

“No, I haven’t… and stop saying her name like that,” he hisses out, his rather abundant annoyance causing Natasha to snicker. “You and Steve both… you’re the fucking worst.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she huffs out, shoving past him and heading back into the living room. “Svetlana,” she calls out, beckoning the girl over as she lowers herself down to the arm of the sofa. Lana kicks aside some Legos before rising and sidling up to her mother, leaning into her leg as she continues to slam together a couple of colorful blocks. “I heard you made a new friend at daddy’s work,” she says, lightly sweeping an errant curl back behind the girl’s ear.

“You didn’t already give her the third degree?” Bucky mutters from across the room, taking a giant swig of orange juice straight from the carton. She gives him a chiding look – always hated when he did that… and put the container back into the fridge after utterly draining it – which is met with little more than a wiggle of his brows.

“No. I didn’t want to pry,” she muses, voice light for the little girl beside her. “But now… I do.” She turns back to Lana – who seems only barely aware that her parents are even in the same room with her, let alone having a conversation that she’s supposed to play a part in – and gives her half-fallen ponytail a little tug to capture her attention. “Did you meet Annie?”

“Um, yeah,” she replies casually, still working to fit together the Legos in her hands, mashing them almost violently, her eyebrows screwing up, forehead crinkling as she stares confusedly at the uncooperative blocks.

“What did you think of her?”

She shrugs. “She’s nice. We had juice. And… um… and she likes the zoo.”

“Oh yeah? Well, that’s pretty cool.” She leans down a bit and almost whispers, though it’s still plenty loud enough for Bucky to hear, “Is she pretty?”

“Yeah,” she says with an exaggerated nod. “She’s like Jas… Jas-i-mine,” she stutters out. “Because her hair’s like hers. And… but… but… her shirt was pink.”

“Wow, pink shirt and pretty hair…” She looks up at Bucky, smirks at the slight blush creeping up his cheeks. “She sounds great.”

“Um… yeah,” Lana goes on. “And she likes cars. And she likes the zoo,” she says again before easily slipping away and dropping back down to her pile of toys behind the couch.

“Well,” Nat breathes out as she rises. “A ringing endorsement. How can I not approve?” She raises a single teasing brow at Bucky, sly smirk gleaming. “Sounds like you found _the one_.”

“Trying to pawn me off?” he intones with a smirk of his own. “Don’t you know I’m still in love with you.”

She snorts out a laugh – “Sure, Barnes.” – and steps behind Lana, bending over so she can lay a kiss on her crown. “You be good for daddy. Clean up your toys before you leave… we all know he’s not going to do it.”

“I can hear you,” he mumbles vaguely.

She heads for the door, tossing over her shoulder as she goes, “Buy a salad. There’s only leftover takeout and eggs in that fridge. And remember, tater tots are not – ”

“A vegetable,” he finishes for her, at her back in a flash to not-so-subtly guide her out the door. “I know.”

She spins on a heel and gives him a shit-eating grin. “I want to meet her. We can double date. Nothing begs the question, _can you handle this?_ like sitting to down to wine and dine with your new boyfriend’s ex and her…” She waves an errant hand through the air. “Whatever the hell Steve is.”

“Yeah,” he quips, brows shooting high. “That’s gonna be a hard pass.”

She leans over and peeks back at Lana playing obliviously on the living room floor. “I want to meet her,” she says again, this time her voice low and sincere, carrying with it the very clear statement that, _if my daughter’s going to be around her, I get to know her._

He offers a tight nod, refusal not really an option on this one, he _knows_. And she shows him another patented Romanov smirk before turning to leave.

Bucky shuts the door behind her, dropping his head to the cool wood and taking the briefest of moments to pull in a calming breath before he shoves off and saunters over to Lana’s station. He kicks aside some Legos to make room and lowers himself to the floor, splaying out on his back beside her. “What do you say, baby,” he breathes out, staring absently at the ceiling. “What should we do today?”

Beside him he hears the rather earsplitting sound of something hard and sharp being dragged across the hardwood, worse than nails on a chalkboard if only because of the damage he knows it’ll leave. He cringes and hesitantly looks from the corner of his eye, sees a shoddily built Lego structure being _vroomed_ like a car back and forth with all of his little girl’s weight behind it. He’s about to tell her to stop, about to thrust a stilling hand that he _knows_ will not be well received, when he hears her mutter, “Annie can come play,” in a sweet and gentle voice that belies the destruction she’s currently wreaking on his floor.

He rolls onto his side, brows tugging together, lips tightly pursed as he drops his head to his hand and watches her. “You want to play with Annie?” he asks after a moment, his tone both light and painfully hesitant.

She shrugs, never looking away from her wheel-less wreck of a car.

“Hm,” he hums out softly, despite the sudden storm of queries rolling through his mind.

Surely she’s bringing up Annie just because Natasha had – and because that little exchange reminded her that her _new friend_ likes the zoo… which she’d been bugging Bucky about going back to for weeks now. Certainly that’s it. It’s not that Lana actually _wants_ to see Annie, right? She doesn’t really know her at all, barely even met her. Although they did seem to hit it off…

What if she actually _does_ want to play with Annie? How does he even broach that? Does he just… text her? Invite a 28-year-old woman over for playtime and juice? And what if she says no? What if Annie doesn’t want to hang out with a four year old? What if she really only likes kids _in theory_? Or from afar? Or for very limited periods of time at the end of which she can just hand them back over to their parents and return to her happy, peaceful, Lego-free life?

On the other hand, what if she _would_ be up for it? It’s worth asking, right? Afterall it would be pretty damn nice to hang out with both his girls together. And… did he just think of Annie as his _girl_?

“Um, daddy,” Lana mutters absently, now purposively digging away at his floor with the corner of a Lego.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, turning his attention to her despite the still-surging questions bombarding his brain. His left hand reaches out and flops atop her toy, immediately stilling her and causing her to look up at him with wide, surprised eyes. He responds by raising a single reprimanding brow… and steels himself for a brewing tantrum.

But what he gets instead is a very serious look, one of seemingly grave import, her blue-gray eyes – a mirror of his own – locking onto him as she utters simply, “We should watch Aladdin.”


	8. Chapter Eight

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks for the fourth – maybe fifth – time since Annie arrived at his place about an hour ago.

When he called, not long after Lana was dropped off this morning, and invited her over, he expected her to say that she was busy. It was pretty short notice, after all. And he had already told her that _he_ wouldn’t be available to hang out all weekend because of dad duty. But as it turned out, she was free as a bird, already bored out of her mind, and – much to his _suspicious_ delight – super pumped to spend the day with them.

Not with _him_. With _them_.

Natasha – with all her inelegant poking and prodding – had brought a rather significant doubt of his to the surface. And if he were to be totally honest with himself, he’d have to admit that inviting Annie over for a fun-filled Saturday with a small child she barely knew was a test of sorts. But he’d also have to admit that just by agreeing to his last-minute proposal – and then by making a beeline for his place, and coming in hot with a fully formed plan for the day – she’d already passed.

She shrugs, still on her hands and knees in the corner, picking up all of Lana’s scattered toys and plopping them back into their _assigned_ cubbies. “Why not? It’ll be fun. Besides, it really is a travesty that neither of you have ever been to the aquarium.”

Bucky continues to loom over her, hands on his hips and thoughtful frown on his face as he watches her happily tidy up after _his_ kid. “You really don’t have to do that,” he says, repeating himself uselessly. He knows she won’t stop, knows that – beyond simply _not minding_ – she seems to actually _enjoy_ cleaning up messes. _Remember what I do for a living,_ she had reminded him when he first cocked a brow at her picking up around his place.

She shoves the last full cube back into its cubby and spins around with a sigh, flopping onto her butt. “Done,” spills from her lips along with an easy smile as she sits on the floor, long legs splayed out atop the hardwood. His eyes inadvertently trace along the subtly tanned skin of her naked shins, up over her knees, settling in at her upper thighs, where the pale green shorts begin their wretched concealment.

After nearly a month of rushed-through meetups and stolen moments – sometimes, if they were lucky, _hours_ – away from work and swim lessons and soccer games… and planning someone else’s lavish wedding, Bucky’s starting to get used to the _pull_ he feels when he looks at Annie. When he sees her dimples cave in amid a deep and luminous smile as she sips coffee across from him at a café. When he catches her absently weaving a hand through her thick, dark hair, curling a single wave around her finger as she reflects, lips forming a thoughtful, silent pout. When an open suit jacket slips carelessly from her shoulder as he walks her back to work after a hurried early dinner. When she sits on his floor and her shorts ride up just enough for his imagination to spark… maybe even flame.

“Daddy?” pulls him swiftly from his thoughts, entire body spinning away from the woman on the floor and towards the hall where the small, sleepy voice originated.

“Hey, baby doll,” he breathes out, his tone cool and relaxed despite the still pounding of his heart. The little girl shuffles over to him and faceplants into his leg with a wide yawn. “You have a good nap?” he asks, reaching down and gathering her easily into his arms.

“Mm-hmm.” She swipes her face back and forth across his shoulder, lets his steady sway and the even pat of his large hand between her shoulder blades slowly pull her from the sleep addled stupor. Another yawn, another lazy turn of her head, and she’s finally able to focus her eyes just enough to see, “Annie!”

Bucky gives her another pat and a little jostle before awkwardly dropping down to the floor beside his – what was she, really? His friend? His date? His girlfriend? His…? He shakes his head swiftly and lets out a huff as he positions Lana in his lap, her body still heavy with the remnants of sleep. “Yeah, Annie’s here,” he spills out into her hair as she leans into him. “That okay?”

She shrugs and reaches out lazily for the woman, fingers flexing and fisting. “You came to play?”

Annie’s face splits wide with an achingly sweet smile, her dimples popping and causing something to ignite inside Bucky’s chest. “Yeah,” she enthuses. “I thought we could play. And _maybe_ ,” she starts, conspiratorial note to her voice as she leans in close and gently takes hold of Lana’s grabby little hand. “Maybe I could convince your dad to take us somewhere _special_.”

“Like… ice cream?” she asks, her nose tightly crinkling in something akin to confusion.

“Better,” she tells her, bright green eyes positively gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight spilling in from the window to her left.

Lana lets out a small grunt as she pushes off of Bucky’s chest and stares at him, a suspicious note to her gaze that has him biting down on the corner of his lip to suppress a laugh. “Where, daddy?”

He reaches out and pets down her wild curls, gently combing through them with his fingers as he replies, “I think Annie wants us to go to the aquarium.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” she murmurs with a raised brow, her haughty expression merely causing that fire within him to burn even hotter.

“Where the fishies live?” Lana asks, a sudden, sincerely interested lilt to her voice. Her eyes ping back and forth between her father and the woman at her side, settling on Annie when she offers a long, slow nod in response.

“And you know what else they have?” she asks, green eyes widening with excitement. “Sea otters!”

“What’s a s’otter?” Lana asks, her face pulling with wonder.

“You’ve seen otters before, baby,” Bucky reminds her. “At the zoo.”

But before she can say anything, Annie is quick to jump in with, “These otters are _better_. They play all day, and you can watch them eat… and they play with their food!”

“Great,” Bucky mutters glumly. “Just what she needs… a lesson in how to play with her food.”

Lana shoves off of his lap, pausing only for the brief moment it takes for her father to grab hold of her T-shirt and tug it back into place. “I wanna see fishies,” she proclaims, moving swiftly past the two adults and making a beeline for her once-again-organized toys in the corner.

Annie turns to Bucky, gives him a smug grin along with a raised brow, and says simply, “Can’t wait.”

000

He hates this. Everything about it. The dark blue tunnels designed to make them feel like they’re underwater. The low light and undulating waves within the walls. The fish – of every sort and size – swimming in slow arcs around them as they step slowly through the crowded passageways. It isn’t natural. It isn’t right. And it’s downright terrifying.

“What’s with you?” Annie asks as she gives him a sharp shoulder check. He tears his eyes away from Lana’s form – from her tiny hands pressed up against the glass, so damn close to a million of nature’s most horrifying creatures – and turns them up to latch onto the woman at his side. “Woah,” she laughs, pulling back a bit at seeing his bright blue eyes wide and alight with what can only be described as pure horror. “Not a fan of fish?”

He drops a thick sigh and tries to blink away the – apparently obvious – fright in his gaze. “Don’t like the water,” he mumbles. “Or anything… in it.”

“Daddy, look!” Lana shouts from several feet away. In just those brief seconds, the four year old had managed to skitter past them and down to a crowded section of the tunnel where at least ten other children are shoving for space to see through the glass. Bucky’s by her side in a few quick strides, lifting her up before she gets body slammed by a pair twin boys about twice her size. “Look!” she repeats, wiggling in his arms as she points down at the rocks and coral across the floor of the sprawling aquarium. Right where she had been standing – where the creepy ginger twins now have their palms spread wide against the glass – a giant snake-like _thing_ lingers half hidden and then shoots out from beneath a reef, rocketing through the seascape.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he intones thickly, his arms unconsciously wrapping tighter around his little girl.

“It’s an eel,” Annie states simply, stepping up behind him and laying a soothing hand on his back, casually raking her fingertips up along his spine. She peers over his shoulder. “Pretty cool, huh, Lana?”

Svetlana wiggles again in her father’s grasp, seemingly oblivious to his distress, and turns in his hold to follow the trail of the spindly, terrifying creature. “Yeah. Cool.”

“Not cool,” Bucky says, hushed voice stuttering from his chest. He lets his head fall back, gaze shifting to the myriad animals swimming and floating above them – all around them – as they stand inside this dark and crowded deathtrap. “This place is…” _Hell? A fucking nightmare?_ He lets the words lie low in his throat, thought trailing off as his eyes continue to drift.

Then… again… “Daddy, look!” Lana pitches forward in his arms as she reaches out to point a chubby little finger at a _giant_ , slinking fish. “Look how big!”

Bucky does look. And that’s just the problem. He looks the monster right in its beady eye as it _slowly_ swims past. He looks at the creature’s fins – the tall triangular one on top – and he actually _hears_ his own heart begin to beat to the rhythm of the Jaws theme.

“Ooo,”Annie’s voice trickles from behind him, barely making it past the steadily increasing _duh-dun, duh-dun_ reverberating in his mind. “It’s a tiger shark.”

“Pretty,” Lana coos, wide eyes following the beast closely as it twists and rises. “Look!” Her little finger continues to point, arm stretching into a tall, wide arc as the shark ascends and swims directly over the top of them.

Bucky chokes on a breath and looks away. But everywhere his gaze lands, there are more damn fish. More ocean and water and… darkness, all closing in around him.

“Look, Lana,” he hears Annie enthuse, her voice murky and distant despite coming from mere inches away. “There’s another one!”

“Uh,” he moans shortly, blinking his eyes tightly shut. Then, “Nope. No,” is flung from his lips as his head begins a wild shake. “No,” he repeats, spinning around and shoving his little girl into Annie’s arms. He barely catches the shocked look she gives him, pausing only for the moment it takes to confirm that her hold on Lana is safe and steady. “I can’t…” he mutters, clearing his throat dully.

She simply nods and adjusts the obliviously distracted girl in her arms. “You want us to meet you outside?” she offers gently, her tone low and understanding.

He nods in return, mumbling out a simple, “Mm-hmm,” amid a thick swallow. And then he turns and jogs for the exit.

It’s almost fifteen minutes before his girls emerge from the undersea tunnel. Just long enough for him to calm his frayed nerves and begin to kick himself for being such an ass. For freaking out like a little bitch over some damn fish. Fish. _Ugh_. He lets loose an involuntary shudder, body shivering slightly despite the overwhelming heat.

“Hey,” he hears from behind, recognizing the voice immediately. He turns and sees Annie – smiling and squinting against the harsh glare of the sun – walking towards him, a happy, skipping Svetlana clinging to her hand.

“Hey,” he replies with a grin of his own, not quite as easy as hers, but not as tremulous as he fears either. He reaches out as they approach, wraps a hand around her upper arm and tugs her gently to his side. “Thanks,” he mutters, voice soft and rich in her ear.

Her breath catches for a moment, the feel of his thumb tracing lightly over her flesh, the sound of his voice pulling from deep in his chest and spilling out softly to her… just for her. “Y-yeah,” she stammers briefly. “Of course.” But before she can say anything else, he’s bent over in front of her, kneeling before his little girl.

“Sorry I took off, kiddo. You have fun with Annie?”

“Yeah,” she says, desperately trying to blink away the painful swell of sudden brightness. He raises his hand above her forehead to block out the sun a bit, give her little eyes another minute to adjust to being out of that godawful cave. “There were sharks, daddy. And fishies. And… and…” She looks up, mid-ramble, tugging on Annie’s hand to get her attention. “And Annie knows them all.”

“She does?” he asks, a rather impressed expression taking over as he too glances up.

She offers a blasé shrug. “I know my way around an aquarium.”

Bucky rises, accepting Lana’s free hand with a practiced ease as she slides inside his fingers. “You a marine biologist in your down time?” he asks, crooked smile blooming.

She drops a small, amused snort – “As if I have any down time.” – and leans over Lana to softly whisper in his ear, “I may have made up some species of _fishies_ to make myself look good. Don’t be surprised if she tells you that _angel sharks_ like to eat _California raisin shrimp_.”

A deep, languid chuckle rumbles out of him as he pulls ahead toward a small kiosk, tugging both of them in turn. “Well, I don’t know if you caught on to this or not… I’m pretty good at covering… but I fucking _hate_ fish.”

“Daddy, you can’t say that,” Lana chides from between them.

“Sorry, baby.”

“ _Hate_ ’s a bad word,” she declares with just enough authority to cause him to roll his eyes, Natasha’s teachings shining brightly through their little girl.

Annie bites back a laugh, actually coughing around it when the sheer silly sweetness of those words causes her to choke on the chortle. She glances up and sees the menu board on the kiosk ahead. “Are you gonna buy us ice cream?” she asks, crafty note to her voice.

“Figured it’s the least I can do after leaving you to fend for yourself against those sharks.”

“I wasn’t by myself,” she tells him, coy grin splitting her face. “Had a trusty sidekick…” She swings Svetlana’s arm and looks down to her. “Right, Lana?”

“Uh-huh,” she replies absently, eyes fixed on the chalkboard ahead, heavily decorated with drawings of ice cream cones and giant sundaes. “Chocolate, please!”

“So,” Annie begins once they take a seat at an empty – albeit pretty damn dirty table – already melting ice cream in hand. She scrubs absently at a old spill on the tabletop with a wad of napkins, lays out a few extra in front of Lana before turning and chucking the spent paper into the garbage. “Fish, huh?”

He shrugs, swallowing down a giant bite. “Everybody’s got something, right?”

“Were you attacked by a shark when you were a kid?” she asks, corner of her mouth ticking up into a teasing smirk. “Are you the Soul Surfer girl?”

“Very funny.”

“Did a shark eat your arm?”

Lana stops licking her cone and looks up at him with wide eyes and a chocolate smeared face. “A shark ate you?”

“Not yet,” he states, quirking an amused grin that merely causes the girl’s face to twist and pinch with suspicion. “And I don’t plan on getting close enough for one to get me either.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, eyes narrowed and assessing in that very specific Romanov way. Part of him loves when she looks at him – or anyone – like this. The shrewdness cloaking that soft, baby face is just too damn cute and comical. But part of him hates it too. Because he knows that someday she’s going to grow into that wise-beyond-her-years look, and damn if that doesn’t just break his heart.

“I’m afraid of ghosts,” Annie blurts out suddenly, drawing both sets of Barnes eyes to her. “I admit it,” she says, taking a giant bite from her waffle cone and flinging both shoulders up into a helpless shrug. She quickly chews and swallows, finishing with, “I think they’re real. I think they’re scary. I think there might be one in my apartment.”

Bucky’s eyes flash to the little girl by his side, reading her face to find any hint of fear. _Just what I need_ , he thinks to himself, _a kid in my bed for the next two years as she learns not to be afraid of ghosts_. But Lana’s face shows no dread at all, only a deep sort of interest. She continues to steadily lick at the rapidly melting ice cream in her hand, her head cocking to the side. “Maybe it’s a domo…” she pauses for a moment, brow furrowing as she tries to recall the term her mother taught her. “Domo… vo. Doe… movie. Doe…”

“What are you talking about, baby?” Bucky asks as he tries to fold some napkins around the dripping cone in her hand.

She licks and bites around him, almost talking into the ice cream when she mutters, “The old man in the wall.”

He pulls back and stares at her, a look of utter shock on his face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Domovoi!” Annie declares from his left, shaking her cell triumphantly at him. She clears her throat and reads from the Googled entry on the screen. “The domovoi is a mischievous house spirit… a benign protector of the household.”

“Yeah,” Lana says, leaning forward and almost dropping her cone in the process. “Mama says he looks out for us. But sometimes he makes noise in the walls.”

Bucky’s eyes remain blown wide, his open mouth bobbing for a long moment before, “What the hell is your mother teaching you?” falls from his lips in an astonished tone.

The little girl shrugs and looks back over at Annie. “Mama says he keeps bad things away. So maybe you have a domo…”

“Domovoi,” she supplies.

“Maybe that’s what’s in your house.”

She gives a slow, approving nod. “Maybe so,” she says before taking a final bite and handing Bucky her leftover napkins.

He shakes his head dully. “You’re both crazy,” he mutters before fisting the napkins and swiping them over his daughter’s filthy face.

Annie smirks, a gleaming twinkle in her eye. “This coming from the guy who’s afraid of Nemo.”

He spins on her, raising a brow. “ _Nemo_ wasn’t a shark.”

“Oh,” she breathes out, long and playful. “So you’re only scared of sharks? Because that eel seemed to bother you too.”

“Well, yeah,” he bleats out in a positively _duh_ fashion. “It’s a fish that looks like a giant damn snake.”

“You know there actually is a snake fish… the snakehead,” she tells him casually, that teasing gleam in her eye only growing. “It’s long like a snake and has big, pointed teeth. _And_ it can come out of the water and move over land.”

A stricken expression pulls at his features, “Oh, God,” falling from idly from his lips. “Tell me that’s not real.”

She shakes her head slowly to-and-fro. “Sorry, Buck. It’s real. It’s been spotted in the US too.” She holds up her phone. “You want me to show you?”

“God, no!” He cringes and shudders, turning back to Lana to finish scrubbing her down. “How do you even know that?”

She shrugs. “ _River Monsters_. TV usually stays on all night… you know, to scare off the ghosts. I figure Jeremy Wade sounds more… intimidating than the Kardashians.”

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head languidly back and forth. But before he can say a word, mock her like she’s been doing him, Svetlana pulls away from his hold, spitting around the napkin, and declares simply, “Uncle Steve’s scared of spiders. Mama has to kill them for him.”

Bucky’s lips purse as he slowly looks over to Annie, an unuttered sentiment carried on his gaze. A simple declaration – _At least I can kill my own spiders_ – blooming in a newly smug smirk. She merely shrugs again, leaning in close to say, “That’s true love there. I don’t know that I’d be able to kill a snakehead for you.”

His brows rise high, teasing glimmer growing in his gaze, almost matching hers. “Well, as far as I know, it’s impossible to kill a ghost – seeing as how they _don’t exist_ – so I guess you’re out of luck too, sweetheart.”

Lana crawls up into Bucky’s lap, his arms absently winding around her even as he continues to stare into Annie’s tempting eyes. “I’ll save you from the fishies, daddy,” she tells him, placing her still-sticky hands on his stubbled cheeks and tugging his face toward her.

“You will?” She nods, a single, firm jerk of her head that sends her dark curls flying. He leans down and rubs his nose against hers in a swift Eskimo kiss before perching his chin atop her head. His gaze shifts back to Annie, takes in the fond smile pulling at her lips. “Guess you’re right,” he intones casually. “True love.”

000

They stop for pizza on the way home, Annie’s treat, “A thank you for indulging me even though you obviously have a very _serious_ aquatic phobia,” she tells Bucky when he protests. And by the time they finally make it back to his place, Svetlana is out cold.

Bucky carries her inside and off to her bedroom, tugging off her shoes and changing her into pajamas all without the little girl so much as stirring. Annie waits patiently, lurking by the breakfast bar, a bit uncomfortable in the midst of such a domestic scene.

Sure, she’s been to Bucky’s before. They’ve spent a few nights here, finishing off his beer and leftover Chinese, snacking on waffles while watching late night TV. She was here almost all night last Monday, watching and giggling as he tried to put together the shelves and cubbies she’d talked him into buying. She even spent the night on the couch… once. Just once. _Only once_ , she reminds herself lest she begins to feel too comfortable in this – _his_ – space.

But all of their time spent here was… alone. There’s something very different about being in this house – with _him_ – while a little girl sleeps peacefully right down the hall. It feels… odd. Almost intrusive.

“Hey,” he says, his soft voice pulling her from her thoughts as he steps past her and into the kitchen. “She is _out_ ,” he mutters, reaching into the fridge and grabbing a couple of just restocked beers.

“Oh,” she starts, a hint of surprise to her voice as she accepts the bottle offered. “Yeah, well, I guess the aquarium can be… tiring.” She clears her throat, eyes remaining trained on the unopened beer in her hand.

He cocks his head at her, brows pulling together into a curious expression. “You okay?”

Her gaze flies up to meet his. “Yeah,” she sputters out, a bit too fast to be genuine.

He raises a brow. “You sure?”

She shakes her head lazily and lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time.”

He laughs – a smooth, languid chuckle that sets his face to beam – and takes a long pull of his beer. “I had a good time,” he says then, connecting his bright blue eyes with hers. “The otters were fun.”

A short giggle spills easily out of her, putting her a bit more at ease. “The monkeys of the sea,” she muses, thinking back to Lana’s excitement as she watched the playful creatures wrestle with one another, tossing their food back and forth.

Bucky nods and reaches out for her hand, her fingers still tightly gripping the sweating bottle. He peels them effortlessly away before tugging and folding her hand up into his. “Got to spend the day with my two favorite girls,” he mutters softly, voice low, a bit hesitant.

He watches as the corners of her lips slowly pull and rise, setting off those glorious dimples, each one buried amid a newly bright blush. “I’m one of your favorite girls?” she asks, eyes arcing away from his piercing gaze, shifting shyly down to the countertop between them.

He drops her hand and reaches up to her face, delicately running the backs of his knuckles along her cheek, the strong line of her jaw. She looks up just in time to see him lean over the counter, shifting heavily towards her. His fingers casually weave back into her hair, tugging strands loose from the partially collapsed ponytail. His palm flattens at the nape of her neck, pressing her forward, pulling her to him.

The kiss is long and languid… tender and deep. Nothing like the few, nervous and hurried pecks they’ve shared over the past few weeks… the _break the ice_ kind of kisses that gave each of them the smallest taste of the other, but smacked more of analyzing, investigating, rather than playing or actually _enjoying_.

This… this is different. This feels… real. It feels… right.

Annie’s toes curl in her sneakers as she leans further over the breakfast bar, further into him. Bucky’s insides flex and firm as his other hand reaches up and wraps around her bicep, tugging her nearer. He splits her lips open with his tongue, spilling hot breath and a world of promises into her. And she does the same for him, nearly crawling atop the counter to get closer, letting out the smallest, sweetest moan of delight the moment they finally break for air.

“I…” she mutters softly, trailing off when his lips connect with hers once again. They’re both grinning like idiots when they split, his tongue just peeking out and tracing along his bottom lip as he watches her blush deepen. “I should go,” she breathes out amid a sweet, soft smile.

He says nothing, merely stares into her eyes, the deep blue of his irises darkening with desire. It’s too much, quite frankly… his stare. His even, steady gaze. The light crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The slight parting of his lips and trace of his tongue.

She pulls in a steeling breath, lets it out in a nervous laugh as her gaze ticks anxiously away. “I shouldn’t… I mean… with Lana here…”

He pulls himself slowly upright, elbows off the counter, and steps around to come to her side. “Yeah,” he mutters blankly, reaching up to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. He leans in close, breath hot on her ear as he whispers to her, “Okay,” before planting a chaste – if lingering – kiss to her still-flushed cheek.

“Okay?” she nearly laughs out, pulling back and raising an incredulous brow.

He nods, crooked, cocky smirk splaying across his face. “Okay,” he repeats. “You’re right.”

“Well, I do like hearing that,” she says lightheartedly, the quip quickly fluttering from his mind the moment she nervously pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

He reaches out and runs his thumb across that lip, causing it to gently pop loose with a small, wet snap. “Wednesday,” he says, barely a breath, the word nearly lost between them as he leans in and presses his mouth to hers once again. Their teeth click together as his tongue hungrily darts around, exploring and tasting and _relishing_ the feel of her.

Another slight moan pulls from somewhere deep, deep down inside of her, spills out into Bucky’s eager mouth, causing his lips to twist into a grin that she feels tug her own alongside. His left hand reaches up to cradle her face as the right continues to linger in place, thumb now swiping lazily along her jaw. And slowly, _slowly_ they part.

“Lana goes back to her mom’s on Wednesday,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to hers.

She smiles wide, her beautiful, deep dimples pressing into his thumbs as he spreads his hands along her cheeks, her jaw. “’Kay,” she emits in an easy breath before pressing her lips back to his for a fleeting moment more. Her hands wrap around his wrists and give a little tug, have to or else – she’s certain – he won’t ever let go. “Wednesday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a little long - and really damn fluffy - but it felt like it all had to be kept together. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed... let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter Nine

The beginning of the week – and _all_ of Wednesday thus far – passes slower than molasses in January. Slower than a herd of turtles in a marathon. Slower than rush-hour traffic in downtown Boston. Slower than…

“ _Hello_?” rips into her periphery, tearing her focus away from the melancholy countdown percolating in her head. “Angela,” Tony intones thickly as he glides into her small office. There’s a sly, knowing smirk brewing on his lips, his voice full of innuendo when he goes on to ask, “What has you so… deep in thought?”

“Sorry,” she mutters, straightening upright and beginning to shuffle papers back and forth erratically in an attempt to make herself look busy. “Nothing.”

A long, haughty laugh, a lingering pose by her desk, a deliberate quirk of his brows followed by a clever wink… and Annie’s _done_. She rolls her eyes, pushes back in the oversized office chair, and rises to leave. “What? No chitchat? No coffee klatch?” Tony almost whines as she grabs her cell and prepares to head out. “Where’s the gossip, huh? C’mon, kid, spill the tea!”

She tries – tries _damn_ hard – to keep from laughing as he sputters next to her. But the corners of her mouth tick up nevertheless, even as she works to keep her lips pinched firmly shut.

He steps slowly over to her, looming in front of her. “Is tonight _the night_?” he asks with a wiggle of his brows. Then, eyes tracing down along her frame, expression setting in something akin to disappointment, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Tony!” she gushes, her shoulders drooping. All at once, a wave a trepidation rolls over her, pushing all of the impatience and excitement to the far back corner of her mind. She glances down at her black cropped trousers, eyes catching the hem of her flowy red, silk tank. “Wh-what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He shrugs. “Guess it really depends on what’s underneath.”

Wide eyes fly up to meet his smug, grinning face. “Tony!” she exclaims – for probably the twentieth time today. “How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot talk to employees about… what lives under their clothes.”

His nose twitches, lip pulling into a disgusted snarl. “I hope to God there’s nothing _living_ under there,” he states with a snort. Annie lets out a huff and rolls her eyes yet again. “I’m just saying that there better be some lace and silk between you and those _really_ unsexy pants if you want to get laid tonight.” He cocks his head assessingly, his posture and expression – and attention on her body – eliciting a thick, hot blush along her cheeks. “Or maybe something… edible?”

Her jaw drops, an short gasp popping loose from her chest and bringing a swift howl of laughter from her _terribly inappropriate_ boss. “I can’t… I don’t… Why would I…”

Tony waves a dismissive hand through the air – “Relax, kid. I’m just messing with you.” – and turns on a sincere, if still jovial, expression. “You look great. He’d be crazy not to want to – ”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” she murmurs – almost begs – as a look of humiliation washes over her face.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs out, dropping a hand to her shoulder and giving her a small shove towards the door. “You’re the one who said you _had_ to be gone by five today. No matter what. Now look,” he intones, flashing his hundred-thousand-dollar watch in her face. “It’s 5:04.”

She huffs out a reluctant goodbye and spins to leave, doubts about her clothes – and her less than exciting underwear – clouding her mind as she meanders to the garage. But the minute she makes it to her Bronco, the minute her fingers turn the key in the ignition, one wonderful, beautiful thought spills out into her consciousness and overtakes all of the trivial worries and pesky nerves. It’s _Wednesday_. Finally, it’s Wednesday.

Annie spends the entire – too damn long – drive over to his place thinking about Bucky’s face and the way his stubble felt beneath her fingertips. About his lips, plump and just slightly chapped, and the way they pressed so urgently into hers. About the soft tenor of his voice – _Got to spend the day with my two favorite girls_ – low and husky and just for her _._

It is _all_ that she can focus on. Throughout the drive out to Brooklyn. And the brief stop at the Indian place down the street, where she looms for ten minutes waiting on her order, looking every part the dreamy, doe-eyed – possibly _creepy_ – love-struck teenager. For the several minutes it takes to gather all the food – and the bottle of wine that Tony had gifted her this morning – precariously in her arms. And for the too long trudge down the block – because parking is _miserable_ out here – and up to his door. She is positively _fixated_ on all things Bucky Barnes.

But the spell is swiftly broken – and the silly, goofy smile she’d been wearing all day long vanishes in an instant – the moment Bucky sharply swings open the door to his apartment.

“Shit,” he groans, the single word barely audible over the piercing cries of the little girl in his arms. He spins away from the door – away from a rather stunned Annie – and gently sways Lana in his arms, soft _shhh_ s continuously falling from his lips despite getting thoroughly drown out by her pitiful sobs.

Annie’s jaw drops, eyes blinking rapidly as she takes in the scene. The cluttered room, not yet tidied, though she’s certain he planned on cleaning up before she came. The echoing misery of a sobbing child reverberating off the walls. The shirtless specimen in front of her, his perfectly toned back rippling distractedly, each and every painfully defined muscle shifting as he cradles his baby closer.

She shakes her head vaguely – sloughing off those desirous thoughts – and steps through the door, casually bumping it shut with her foot behind her. Bucky turns back to her when he hears the click of it closing, looks at her with what can only be described as utter desperation in his eyes. Now she sees that Lana is shirtless too, wearing only a pair of pink pajama bottoms. And she smells – mixed in with the heady scent of the Tikka Masala still in her hand – the sickly tang of vomit in the air.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters over the top of Svetlana’s head, his right hand creeping up to gently weave into her curls and tug her screaming face back down to his shoulder. “Nat’s running late. And…” A long, languid, completely depleted sigh falls from his lips before the rather obvious declaration of, “Lana came home sick.” He steps back, moving toward the hall where he carefully kicks away a small pile of discarded clothing, soft utterances of _shhh_ and _It’s okay, baby_ repeatedly tumbling from his mouth and into the inconsolable creature in his arms.

Annie sets down the food and wine on the breakfast bar and follows on his heels, still silent, still unsure of quite what to say.

“She just threw up again,” he breathes out, his voice a mix of frustration and sadness, a put-on gentle tone overlaying it all for his daughter’s sake. He stops at her bedroom door and turns to face Annie, sees her reaching down to collect the felled – vomit-covered – shirts from the floor. “No,” he snaps, a single, stilling hand dropping from Lana’s back and shooting out towards her. “Don’t. Just… I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s okay,” she issues out, face contorting into a closed-lip grin that doesn’t quite manage to convey the reassurance she’d been aiming for. “You’ve got your hands full.”

Lana’s cries begin to wane – if only the slightest bit – but Bucky can still feel her hot tears steadily cascading down his shoulder and chest as he offers Annie a quick nod and steps into the dimly lit room.

It hadn’t been like this _all_ day… thank God. She had seemed fine this morning, bouncing around as usual, making it nearly impossible for him to comb out her hair and secure it into the requested pigtails. She ate her breakfast – or as much of it as she typically might – and scurried off into her pre-K classroom the moment he dropped her off, very nearly forgetting to give him a kiss goodbye. So it was a surprise to say the least, when the daycare called around noon and told him that his little girl wasn’t feeling well.

Truthfully, he didn’t think too much of it. Just asked Steve to cover for him and took off to go gather his baby up.

Now, Svetlana Barnes is no stranger to the fine art of temper tantrums and manipulative weeping. She is a four year old after all. She can cry and scream and wail with the best of them. But it’s honestly pretty rare – especially with a _you know that wobbling lip won’t work on me_ mother like Natasha. And what’s rarer still is their tough little cookie crying in discomfort. She’s more the type to get _angry_ when she’s tired or under the weather. And silently _broody_ – though utterly clingy – when hurt.

So Bucky knew something was wrong when she started softly crying just as he began to buckle her into the car seat. In a breath of a moment, instinct kicked in and he frantically tugged at the buckle to release her, to pull her back out of the car and… aim her somewhere else. But by the time he realized what was about to happen, it was already too late. As soon as his fingers bent around the seatbelt, she upchucked into her own lap. He had managed to flip his hands up in time to catch most of it – and not-so-sneakily dump it off to the side of the daycare parking lot – but the very act of getting sick had turned the poor little girl into a wailing heap of flushed cheeks and trembling limbs. He wiped his hands on his pants with a disgusted grimace, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, and jumped into the front seat, driving as fast as he felt safe doing to get his baby back home.

One bath and a too-long battle over children’s Tylenol later, and Lana had finally fallen asleep, giving Bucky just enough time to shower, change, and finish a load of laundry. But not five minutes after Natasha called to say she was stuck in a meeting and would be late picking her up – _I’m so, sorry, James. I know you have plans and… Just tell her I’ll be there soon._ – he heard the short, pathetic cries resume.

He _tried_ to get her to the bathroom in time, but no such luck. Less than an hour before Annie was set to arrive – and she was _always_ early for everything – and he and Lana both were covered in vomit in yet again. Not that any of that really mattered when he had his despondent little baby cradled so tightly in his arms, her steady weeping ripping through to his very soul.

“Shhh,” he tries again, patting her warm, sticky back before reaching down to open a drawer, grabbing a clean T-shirt and tossing it out onto her bed. The only light in the room is from the early evening sun filtering in through the edges of the closed blinds, and from her pale yellow monkey night lamp off in the corner. He slowly lowers himself into the old rocking chair near the door – the one that used to be his mom’s… used to be for her to soothe him and his little sister all those years ago – and hikes Lana a little further up his chest, guiding her head down to his shoulder once again. “I know, baby,” he utters absently, one hand slowly swiping along her back, the other softly petting at her sweaty hair as he begins a methodical rock. “I know. It’s okay.”

From the hall, Annie can hear his tender whispers only vaguely. But that almost makes it worse… harder to take in. The softness in his voice, the subtle desperation, not only breaks her heart, but makes her feel terribly out of place. Like an interloper in this sad, sweet moment. She finishes gathering the soiled clothes and pops them into the washing machine next to the bathroom, next to Bucky’s bedroom. The door is wide open and she chances a glance in, sees the neatly made bed, smiles softly to herself, and then realizes all at once that this may well be as close as she’ll get to that bed tonight.

She slowly saunters back to Lana’s bedroom, looming listlessly in the doorway for a moment, watching as Bucky’s hulking shoulders lean back into the small wooden spindles of the rocking chair, tiny fingers grasping at his flesh. He rocks with a slow, practiced rhythm, like he’s done this dance a hundred times before. _Of course he has_ , she thinks to herself, rolling her eyes. _He’s a father_.

Tony’s words from the other day come back to her, urging her to consider whether or not getting involved with a _dad_ might be too much. _You’ll never come first, you know_. The utter truth to those words, and the frightening simplicity of the all-too-obvious statement, cause her gut to clench.

_He didn’t call to cancel_ , she reminds herself. _He didn’t text to say not to come._ He didn’t turn her away when she arrived either. She may be on the outside looking in at this moment in time, but at least she’s _here_. Can’t that be enough?

A knock at the door rips her from her reverie, her eyes shooting down the hall for a beat before veering questioningly over to Bucky. Through the dimness of the room, he locks onto her curious gaze and gives a gentle nod, a silent command – a _plea_ – to help him out by seeing who it is.

She hurries down the hall and pulls open the door to find Steve, a sweet, almost nervous smile splitting his face when he sees her. “Hey, Annie,” he intones, stepping blithely into the apartment. He’s several paces in before he spins back to face her. “I am _so sorry_ about this. Nat got caught up at the office… she should’ve been here an hour ago. I know you and Buck have plans.” He ducks his head meekly in apology. “He was really… excited about it.”

A fleeting trill of elation shoots up her spine – _he was really excited_ – before swiftly flickering away. “No, no, it’s nothing,” she mutters, winding her arms tightly around her middle. “I just feel bad for Lana.” She ticks her chin towards the hall – “They’re in her bedroom.” – and heads over to the living room to start picking up, absently tidying to both pass the time and quell her nerves.

He gives a nod of thanks and disappears down the hall, breathing out a soft, “Hey there,” as he steps through the doorway to the little girl’s room.

Bucky looks up at him with weary eyes, never stopping the slow, steady rocking nor his gentle stroke up and down his daughter’s back. “Hey,” he says simply, his voice rumbling though his chest and into Lana, causing her to stir.

She rubs her face sleepily into his him, warm tears and saliva causing a slick beneath her cheek as she turns to see Steve lingering in the doorway. He ducks his head to make eye contact, offering a small, crooked smile before stepping into the room and dropping to one knee by the rocking chair. “Hey, bud,” he says, reaching out and swiping at the sweat-laden hair sticking to her forehead. He tenderly nudges it from her face, letting his thumb drift down to wipe away a thick, salty tear track. “Heard you don’t feel so good.”

The sobs had all but stopped, leaving only small moans and shuddery hiccups in their wake. But still, it seems it’s too difficult for her to speak, nothing more than a short nod and sniffle being offered to her uncle as he flattens his palm on her cheek to test her temperature.

“She puked in the car when I picked her up,” Bucky mutters, the hand atop her back now moving in a rhythmic pat to help quell her hiccups. “Got her cleaned up and into bed… then she blew again about twenty minutes ago.”

Steve cringes in a sort of awful solidarity. Then he raises a brow, teasing glint in his eye as he leans back and looks assessingly at the pair before him. “And judging from the lack of clothes, I’m guessing she nailed you?”

He releases a dejected huff. “Both times.”

A small laugh spills from his lips and he leans in close, locking onto Svetlana’s dull blue eyes. “Well, buddy, what do you say? You want me take you back to mommy’s? She should be home real soon…”

“She was supposed to be here a fucking hour ago,” Bucky seethes as he presses Lana’s head back down to the crook of his neck. He feels her hot skin slide along his and lets out a small hiss. “Probably time for more Tylenol.”

That gets a bit of a rise out of her, tiny limbs pulling together to push back on her father, form writhing as she struggles and whines out, “Nooooo,” in a hoarse, pathetic tone that very nearly breaks his heart.

He looks down at her as she pulls away, raises his brows in a _listen to your father_ way, and says simply, “Yes.”

The tears start up again, her face twisting and reddening. And she leans further away, tilting over the arm of the chair as she reaches pitifully out for Steve. “Oh, poor baby,” he intones thickly, reaching for her as well. He easily scoops her up and out of her father’s lap, giving Bucky a shit-eating grin over the top of her head as he rises with the sweaty, crying, clingy girl in his arms.

Bucky merely gives a tired – and thoroughly annoyed – eyeroll in response. “You’re really gonna make me be the bad guy?” he asks, letting out a small, exhausted groan as he hauls himself up from the rocking chair.

He swipes the little blue T-shirt off the bed and turns to tug it on over the top of Svetlana’s head – quite a feat as she hangs onto her uncle for dear life, desperate to stay as far away from her father as possible now that he’s promised more medicine. He finally works both of her arms in and pulls the shirt down her clammy back.

“C’mon,” he sighs, side stepping Steve and heading into the kitchen, assuming he’ll follow.

Lana doesn’t see him grab the bottle of liquid Tylenol from the counter, but the moment Steve pivots to pluck her coiled form from around his chest, she senses what’s coming. And she blows a gasket, the soft, stifled cries rising quickly into vicious, ear-splitting screams.

“Baby, you’re gonna make yourself sick again,” Bucky laments loudly as he tries to speak over the shrill, deafening sobs. More than a hint of impatience spills out of him as he takes hold of her arm to keep her from turning back into Steve, tugging a bit harsher than he wants to as she continues to struggle against him. “There’s no reason to get so damn worked up.”

Steve gives her a little bounce and tries to look down at her, tries to make eye contact with the wild, thrashing creature. “C’mon, bud. You choke down some medicine now and we can have cookies back at home.”

Bucky drops her tiny arm and gives his friend an incredulous glare over the top of the little girl’s head. “You’ll regret doing that, I promise,” he tells him with a raised, warning brow.

Steve offers little more than a dismissive shrug before giving Lana a quick, tight squeeze and saying to her, “You know how mad mommy’ll be at me if I bring you home without any medicine in you?” She wildly tosses her head back and forth, a _no_ and an _I don’t care_ in one frantic gesture. “What if she yells at me?” he asks in an almost desperate tone. He gives her another light bounce and ducks his head to capture her gaze, offers a teasing sort of smile as he asks, “What if she _hits_ me? You don’t want that, do you?”

Bucky snorts loudly from his side, but holds back his own sarcastic response, noting that Lana’s cries are diminishing as Steve continues to beg for her help.

“You could be saving my _life_ , pumpkin,” he says with a thick – faux – sincerity. “Just take a _teeny, tiny_ bit of medicine so mommy doesn’t hurt me.” A full, pouty lip juts from his face, the sides of his mouth tugging down into an overdone frown. “Please?”

She shakes her head again, a mighty pout of her own pulling across her countenance. But it’s obvious that she’s too tired to keep fighting. Finally placated by her uncle’s ridiculous pleas – and maybe a bit by a very real desire to keep him from getting in trouble – she drops her temple to his chest and looks up at her father with weary, red-rimmed eyes.

He gives her the liquid Tylenol, glides a thumb over her disgustedly pursing lips to wipe away the remnants, and bends over to drop a lingering kiss on her warm forehead… even as she whines and tries to pull away.

Steve catches the worried, sad look washing over his friend’s face as he straightens upright, his voice dropping into a low, tender tone as he tells him, “She’ll be alright.”

He nods – “Yeah, I know.” – never removing his desolate gaze from the flushed little face in front of him. “I know,” he repeats with a sigh.

“We’ll call you later to let you know how she’s doing.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters again, finally looking up at Steve and breathing out a long, pained sigh.

“Don’t worry,” he tries again, adding on a carefree smile for good measure. He glances over at Annie, her arms laden with the toys that she’s picked up from all over the apartment, and his grin grows wider. “You two just have fun. Really. We’ve got this.” He ducks his head, dropping his nose to Lana’s sweaty curls. “Right, buddy?”

She doesn’t respond, opting instead to tightly pinch shut her eyes and crumple her face in that way that both men recognize as near sleep. Bucky grabs the small, already packed backpack from the sofa as they head for the door, handing it over to Steve and leaning down to kiss Lana goodbye a final time. “I love you, baby,” he whispers to her, surprised when she mutters a _love you_ back at him before twisting further into Steve’s hold and being whisked out the door.

Annie finishes depositing the toys in their rightful cubbies before turning to look at the forlorn man across the room. “I…” she stutters for a moment, eager to break the sudden, heady silence. She clears her throat and steps out from behind the couch, moving slowly towards him. “Is there anything else to throw in the wash? Her sheets, maybe?”

He turns to her – just as she sidles up next to him, her considerate words heavy on the air between them – with the most pitiful expression she’s ever seen grace that handsome face. His deep blue eyes look shadowed and hazy, dark bags already forming beneath. And his lips part just slightly, ready to talk, yet painfully silent.

She’s about to speak again, to ask if he’s alright or if he needs anything. Or – the awful words bubbling in her throat like thick bile – if he’d rather she just left.

But the moment her mouth bobs open, he lunges forward, grabbing hold of her and spinning her round, thrusting her back so that she’s pressed against the closed door. His hands grip at her biceps for just a fraction of a moment before shifting up to grab and tug and simply lose themselves in her long, thick hair. A short, strangled breath catches in her throat as their teeth slam almost violently together, lips twisting and pulling and nipping as she lets herself get lost in the desperate kiss.

Then, all at once, just as she’s about to wrap herself so completely around him – run her fingers through his hair, grip tight to his still-naked shoulders, trail her nails down his perfectly chiseled back – he pulls swiftly away. “Sorry,” spills from his lush, swollen lips as he slowly backs away, gaze averted, hand now tugging at his own hair before sliding down in his face in utter frustration. “Shit,” he groans languidly. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She wants to say, _no._ To refuse his apology and tell him that there’s no reason to be sorry, no reason at all. She wants to laugh at him for thinking that something like _that_ could _ever_ require an apology. Hell, in this precise moment, she wants to leap forward and climb him like a fucking tree. But all she does is remain – cemented to the spot, legs now wobbly beneath her – stiffly silent as her back gathers sweat, even while firmly pressed against the cool wood of the door.

“What…” he sputters out amid a crazed sort of laugh. He tugs at his hair again, looks up at her with wild, almost startled eyes. “What the fuck are we doing?”

A loud click reverberates between them as Annie finally slams her gaping mouth shut, teeth clanging together. His expression shifts, just a bit, changing from manic and alarmed to… amused. “I think we were… kissing,” she utters, almost a question.

And he can’t help but laugh. “Yeah,” he breathes out languidly, shaking his head as he does so. “Yeah.”

She steps forward, finally finding her legs – though, admittedly, they’re still more than a bit shaky – and blurts out, “Do you need help?” a little more enthusiastically than intended. “I mean… cleaning up… or…”

He waves an absent hand through the air, avoiding her gaze once again. “No, doll,” he intones gently. “No, I got it.”

“I really don’t mind,” she says, sidestepping him and moving into the kitchen, her entire body buzzing as she flits around, putting things away – Tylenol, cereal, a container of Pedialyte – not even registering the fact that she somehow seems to know just where everything goes. There are a handful of dishes in the sink, soaking in now-cold, sudsy water, and she flips on the faucet to begin finishing them up, reaching out for a sponge on the side of the sink before having her hand stilled by his. A small gasp escapes her as he moves closer, presses his chest into her back, leaning forward enough to pin her hips between the sink and his warm, muscular frame.

“Don’t,” he whispers into her hair as his wide-open palm stretches over the back of her hand. His fingers wind with hers, knocking the sponge loose as he reaches around from the other side to turn off the water. He pulls her hand to her side, wrapping both of their arms across her middle, his left dropping to almost violently grip the edge of the sink. She stills before him – _beneath_ him – feels his hips press her further into the counter, a dull pressure building in her abdomen. His forehead drops to the base of her skull, his breath hot on her neck and back, seeping through her hair, as he utters again, “Don’t.”

“Bucky,” she chokes out, his name catching in her chest.

He holds her close for just a moment more, tightening his arm around her middle, stepping close enough that she can feel him growing hard as he continues to press firmly into her. He nuzzles at her hair, breaks through the thick, dark curtain with his nose and lazily trails several soft kisses along the ridge of her spine… up and down the center of her neck. Then he lets out a long, deep breath and simply steps away.

The moment he moves, she’s left feeling cold, the sudden absence of warmth at her back sending a swift shiver throughout her body. She spins to look at him, sees him once again run a nervous hand through his hair, a sheepish flush blooming on his cheeks. “You’re not going to apologize again, are you?” she asks, somehow managing to level her voice and raise a teasing brow despite the lightheaded thrill that still pulsates through her.

“No,” he chuckles. Then with a shrug. “Maybe.” He looks up at her, locks his bright blue eyes onto hers and shakes his head slowly… regretfully. “This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.”

She steps forward – just a bit, nervous hesitation stunting her movements – and she asks, “Isn’t _tonight_ just starting?”

“Annie,” rumbles out of him, equal parts longing and chiding. “You’re probably gonna get sick just being here.” He too takes a halting step forward, just close enough that he’s able to reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to get sick, doll.”

“I don’t really _want_ that either, but…” She gives a casual shrug. “I’ve already been exposed, so…”

A crooked smile splits his face, head ducking almost bashfully for a moment. “This kind of thing,” he mutters, shaking his head once more, “it happens, you know? It happens a lot. Kids get sick. Or hurt. Or they… throw tantrums. And they… ruin plans.” He sighs, lets out the smallest chuckle, and steps back to lean into the refrigerator… to lean away from her.

“Are you saying our plans are… ruined?” she asks, more of a bite to her words than intended.

He raises his brows and lets out a long sigh. “You gonna tell me all of this gets you in the mood?”

“Not _this_ ,” she blurts out fervently. “But…” She waves a hand out in front of her, gesturing vaguely at him… at his shirtless, beautiful body. And at the hardened length still swelling in his jeans.

He lets out a small laugh before letting his gaze simply linger on her face, on the bright blush still coating her cheeks, washing over those beautiful dimples. But he doesn’t step closer, nor does he reach out.

The longer he lingers – still and silent – the easier it becomes for her to see that, as much as he seems to be struggling to tear his eyes away from her, he’s not planning on approaching her again. Bitter frustration roils in her gut and a low groan slips from her lips as her eyes roll dramatically back, an irritated expression designed to mask her absolute disappointment.

He blows a tired breath out of his nose, nostrils flaring as he finally forces himself to pull his gaze away from her, directing it to the floor, back to the other room, to his hands as they nervously fist and knot in front in of him. Anywhere but her. “This is so… stupid,” he mutters, annoyance leaking from the words. “I mean… we shouldn’t have to have this conversation now. Not now… when we’ve only been on a handful of dates… _fuck_ ,” he chokes out. “We haven’t even fucked.”

Her lips split open, ready to speak, but it takes a moment for her to form the words, mouth bobbing aimlessly as she shoves down the response of, _we could just take care of that last part now_. Instead her brows twist curiously together, head cocking confusedly to the side as she asks simply, “What conversation?”

He finally looks back at her, but his expression is so dramatically changed, eyes no longer hooded with lust, but darkened with a sort of profound sobriety. “Kids,” he bleats out with a shrug, unfolding his hands and shoving them into his pockets as he goes on to ask, “Do you want kids?”

“Well, yeah,” she breathes out easily, puzzlement still painting her face.

“ _Now_?” he asks, raising a brow to drive home his point.

She doesn’t respond, not immediately anyway, because truthfully the answer is _no_. Of course she doesn’t want kids right now. She’s just getting started in her career. She only just met _him_. It would be crazy. But isn’t it also a little bit crazy to be asking her that right now? To be asking… like this?

Her face slowly hardens, eyes narrowing a bit as a wave of involuntary anger rolls over her. “Are you asking me if I want to be Lana’s mother?” she asks, tone drenched in sarcasm. “Because I thought Natasha already had that covered.”

“I’m being serious,” he tells her in a deep-set tone to match his words.

Her hands drop to her hips, a brutally defiant stance – which, admittedly, she rarely wears – popping out full force. “So am I.” He rolls his eyes in annoyance, and the flippant gesture sets her blood to boil. “What? I can’t be with you if I’m not willing to be a _mother_ right away?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Did you ask Steve if he was willing to be a father?” She shoots back, the words spilling out of her before she gets a chance to think them through. “Because I was under the impression that you were _pissed as hell_ with him for just _trying_ to be!”

“I’m not…” he sputters before pinching his lips firmly shut, a look of pure annoyance settling over his now stern face. “He’s being a _parent_ right now, whether he wants to be or not. Because he has no choice. If you live with a kid…”

“I didn’t realize we were that serious,” she snipes. “Are you asking me to move in?”

“Damn it, Annie, I’m trying to… I just want to…”

“Have _that_ conversation,” she finishes for him, no question to her voice.

“Yes!” he exclaims, pushing off the fridge and pulling up to his full height – shoulders stiffly set – as he stares down at her. “Is that so wrong?!”

“Okay, fine. Let’s do it,” she nearly snarls at him. “How ‘bout you?” A single, questioning brow rises high, her voice shifting into a mocking tone. “Do _you_ want more kids?”

A startled silence fills the room, Bucky’s face taking on a lost quality for a long moment before pinching tight, his posture slumping as he breathes out, “I… I don’t know.”

“Oh,” she intones with a self-satisfied smirk. “You don’t know? Or maybe you just haven’t thought about it, and now you’re being put on the spot in the middle of a… heated discussion? Are you finding that these sorts of questions are difficult to answer?” Her head cocks to the side, faux-sincere frown pulling as she goes on to ask, “Maybe a little _unfair_?”

“Yeah. I get it,” he spits out. “I’m just trying to explain…”

“Bucky,” she sighs in frustration. “I’m not an idiot. I _know_ that getting involved with someone who has a kid means a whole… plethora of other _things._ Other responsibilities. And… annoyances. And the truth is, this _conversation_ … these questions… they’re important. I know that. But…” Her shoulders bounce up and down in a sort of desperate shrug. “I don’t know what you want from me here. I… I like you. And I like Lana. And I am… willing…”

His own shoulders drop, the righteous air being swiftly taken from his sails. “I just don’t want…” He looks up at her and smiles… a sad, distressed smile. “I really like you,” he admits, the words tumbling out in a single, low breath. “But if this isn’t gonna work… if you can’t…” His head once again begins that slow, deliberate pivot to-and-fro.

She steps closer, hands finally falling from their stiff posture at her hips. “Have I made it seem like I _can’t_?” she asks, taking another small step towards him. “Or like I don’t want to _try_?”

“No,” he mutters softly. “But… it’s a lot.”

She shrugs, “Maybe,” she admits, pulling up closer and issuing out, voice breathy and low, “But maybe I think you’re worth the trouble.”

He glances up to find her mere inches from him, “Annie,” falling from his lips in a coy sort of warning.

She leans closer, her breath hot on his skin, nose grazing his stubbled cheek. “I know you had a really rough day, Buck,” she intones, barely a whisper. “But Lana’s okay with Steve and her mom. And _you_ … you’re okay here with me.”

He pulls back a bit, looks down at her with questioning – _imploring_ – eyes. The way she gazes back up at him – full of reassurance and comfort and… certainty – sets his heart to stutter, causes his breath to catch in his chest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters vaguely, the single, heady word echoing thickly in his own ears, voicing his trepidation, covering his excitement. He reaches up to take hold of her face, both palms pressing into her still-burning cheeks, thumbs dipping briefly into those perfect dimples as her growing smile presses into him. “Fuck,” he repeats with a chuckle before dropping his lips to hers and letting himself simply… fall.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long to update... I got a little sucked into a different WIP that I've been obsessing a bit over. But here we are, the final chapter!

“Come _on_ ,” Annie intones – practically whines – as both hands come up to wrap around his wrist. She gives a sharp tug, lets out a dramatic groan, and then plants her high heels and pulls on him with all her might.

But Bucky’s feet remain cemented firmly in place, his eyes still lingering on the throngs of well-dressed, _Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous_ people behind her as they casually saunter into the country club. The corner of his mouth ticks up ever so slightly, lopsided grin blooming as he watches her antics from his periphery, catching sight of the pretty pink chiffon of her dress blowing in the soft breeze as she leans heavily back and lets out another huff while continuing to manhandle him.

“Uh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slowly, methodically. “No way in hell am I going in there.”

She pulls herself upright and gives him a disappointed look, bottom lip protruding in an overdone pout. “You promised.”

He shrugs, twisting his hand easily in her grip to wrap his fingers around hers. “Changed my mind.”

There’s a cheekiness to his gaze – and a brilliant hue to his crystal blue eyes – that she recognizes immediately. It’s the same vague, teasing look he gives his daughter whilst telling her that dinosaurs used to keep sabretooth tigers at pets… and made wooly mammoths use their tusks to clean their litter boxes. Or when he insists that ice cream for breakfast is against the law, and he’s keeping her out of jail by giving her waffles instead.

It’s a look Annie’s had directed her way a time or two as well, the playful flash in his features doing more to set her ablaze than just about anything else – save maybe seeing him slide out from under a car, covered in grease and sweat. Those moments when he sneaks up behind her while she’s washing dishes, gives her a swift and startling slap on the ass that _every time_ causes her to nearly jump out of her skin? There’s that glint burning in his gaze as she turns to coyly chide him. Or when she bemoans being tired after a long day and a late night, only to feel his fingers trail slowly up her thigh, setting her flesh to tingle and singe? Sure enough, when she rolls over in bed, it’s _that_ look she’s met with, impish anticipation painting his features.

It’s a look that has already become adored and craved by her. And freely given by him. A gesture, an unspoken admittance of affection that – in just these few short months – has managed to work its way into a new, shared vernacular.

She steps closer to Bucky, the slowly setting sun beating harshly on her back as she presses herself to his chest. “What if I change my mind about coming home with you tonight?” she asks with a sly smile, eyes fluttering flirtatiously up at him. “I mean, if I go in there alone, chances are, I’ll find some handsome, _rich_ man and go home with him instead. Let him whisk me away in his Ferrari.”

Her mere presence coupled with the unseasonably warm temperature causes sweat to build beneath his collar, and he reaches up with his free hand to tug at the suffocating tie. “If he’s got a Ferrari, I can’t blame you,” he breathes out casually. “Go for it.” He drops his palm down to her hip, taking in the cool silkiness of her dress. “But you’re not gonna find anyone in there more handsome than me.”

She pulls back with a sudden – utterly enchanting, he can’t help but think – laugh and slaps him in the chest. “Cocky much?”

He merely wiggles his brows at her, earning an eyeroll – amid a beautifully dimpled smile – in response.

“C’mon,” she breathes out then, spinning round and twining her fingers with his before setting off towards the celebration. “You’re my officially RSVPed plus one. There’s no backing out now. It’s the law.”

He bites back a short chuckle, lets out instead a rumbling growl, but easily relents just the same, this time allowing himself to be pulled forward towards the massive gardens ahead. “I don’t know any of these people,” he whines pathetically, plodding behind her with heavy feet.

“You know me. And Tony,” she supplies, forging on without casting a glance back at him.

He rolls his eyes restlessly. “Last time I saw your boss, he was practically dusting for prints in my garage.”

“So dramatic,” she mocks thickly, accepting a program from one of the ushers as they enter the sprawling garden. She stops short once inside, Bucky very nearly ramming into her from behind. “It looks _amazing_ ,” she lets out in a low, astonished tone, the very tenor of which shoots a wide grin across Bucky’s face. She spins to look at him, her eyes inadvertently ticking round to take in more details of their surroundings. The lush, green topiaries looming on all sides. The big, beautiful lilies and orchids encircling the seating area. The perfectly placed fairy lights streaming from the tall trees. The giant pergola up front where a terribly well-dressed justice of the peace is already stoically standing. “This is exactly like what Pepper requested,” she mutters delightedly. “She must be so happy!”

He tugs her off to the side – out of the way – as more people stream in. “Well, it is her day, right?”

Annie nods, small hum spilling from her lips as she turns and drags him off towards the pristine white chairs, marching ever closer to the pergola at the front. “Tony said that if I sit any further back than the third row, I’m fired,” she tells him when his heels begin to dig in yet again.

And again, he yields, a deep, rather comic frown pulling on his face as they lightly push their way through the other guests. “So Stark is the bridezilla,” he mutters, no question to his voice.

She leads him into the seats, across a few already sitting – oddly familiar-looking – people before plopping down with a huff. “Ugh,” she drones, completely ignoring his comment and instead straightening her skirt beneath her before letting out a long, weary sigh alongside the very simple utterance, “It is _hot_.”

“ _You’re_ hot?” He turns on her with wide eyes, tugging once more at his tie, trying – and failing – to slide the sleeves of his suit jacket up his forearms for just a little air. “If they say anything more than just _I do_ , I might freakin’ melt out here.”

A soft, clever smile rolls across her face. “But you’ll look good while you do it,” she says, reaching up to flatten his lapel before giving a single, terse nod. “I like you in a suit.”

He lets out a small scoff. “Don’t get any ideas, doll.”

“Any ideas?” she intones, grin only growing. “We’re at a _wedding_ , Buck. I’m getting all sorts of ideas.”

His eyes blow wide for the briefest of moments, mouth falling agape and head cocking towards her as an anxious trilling buzzes through his brain. But then he sees the teasing turn to her lips, the tightness in her jaw as she works to hold in a bout of laughter. And he releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as an exasperated, “Very funny,” slips from his lips.

The bright, airy chuckle she’d been holding so tightly to spills out, her fingers dropping to splay wide over his knee. “Relax. I promise I won’t propose to you at the end of the night.”

His face drops, and along with it, his voice. “Might not mind you proposing _certain_ things,” he mutters with a shrug.

A quick bark of a laugh has his eyes veering automatically back up at her, locking onto her mirthful gaze. “Fine,” she eases out after the giggles begin to fade. “Maybe I’ll propose _something_.” Then she shifts in her seat, turning towards him, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes take on a somewhat solemn quality as she tells him, voice dropping nearly a full octave, “I’m not one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls who’s going to get all weepy just because we’re at a _gorgeous_ wedding.” Her eyes tick over to the waiting pergola, a wistful air wrapping around her tone. “Or because I genuinely love the two people getting married. Or because,” she looks back at him, something clenching and burning deep in her core as she catches his bright blue eyes. “Because I _love_ the fact that you actually came here with me.”

A tight breath hisses between his teeth. “Jesus, doll. You keep looking at me like that, you might just turn _me_ into one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls,” he tells her before throwing an arm over her shoulder – despite the heat – and settling back with her body nestled close to his.

000

In the weeks following what had since been dubbed _FLU: Revenge of the Toilet_ , Annie and Bucky had not only grown closer, but more… solid.

That rather rough Wednesday night – when everything seemed to go wrong and all of their insecurities were laid bare – had been a bit of a turning point in their relationship. Looking back, both of them would likely say that it was, in fact, the _beginning_ of their relationship. Before that night, they were _dating_. They were two people who talked and laughed and hung out… and were – undeniably, categorically – attracted to one another. But _after_ , they became so much more.

For Annie, the defining aspect of that evening – the thing that convinced her they were about to head down a new path together – was simply the fact that Bucky had _pushed_. He forced a conversation about whether or not she could handle his _messy_ life, felt the need to because – _I really like you_ – he was beginning to see a place for her in his future. That, coupled with the fact that he never asked her to leave, clearly never _wanted_ her to leave, served to quiet Tony’s well-intentioned warning – _You’ll never come first,_ _you know_ – that always seemed to linger in the back of her mind.

Maybe that would still be true at times. Maybe it _should_ be true, especially when the one she’d be competing against for that top spot was a four-year-old girl. But in that moment – that _night_ – Bucky had made it abundantly clear that _she_ was his priority.

Needless to say, she had stayed the night after all. After a rather intense and achingly long make out session that resulted in swollen lips, a bit of beard-burn, and a broken coffee maker; a quick _everything’s good here_ check-in phone call from Steve and Natasha; and too much lukewarm Indian food, Annie ended up coiled around Bucky’s hulking form, breathless in his bed, sweaty sheets sticking to naked flesh as her exhausted body drifted off to sleep. It was blissful and _hot_ , and above all else, it just felt… right.

The next morning, on the other hand, wound up being less than stellar. She woke cold and alone, sprawled atop an otherwise empty bed, pulled from her slumber by the muffled sounds of retching emanating from behind the closed bathroom door.

She cared for Bucky that day – much to his chagrin – helped him shower and dress, cleaned his toilet, even ran to the store to stock up on Gatorade and ginger ale. And she allowed him to care for her as well – to come and fetch her and take her home, clean her up and keep her hydrated – when she blew chunks all over her desk at work two days later.

And _that_ is what became the defining moment for Bucky.

It had all been a somber sign of things to come. Sickness. Hardship. Going to bed on cloud nine and waking the next morning with a faceplant to the dirty ground. It was all the things that he’d been afraid might happen. Burdening Annie with the cumbersome task of caring for a stubborn patient – _I see where Lana gets it now_ – and the painful domesticity it bore. Having to do the same for her, just _looking_ at her pale skin and hooded eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow, all the while knowing she was sick because of him. Having to break plans – the first plans they managed to make that didn’t involve chicken soup and Netflix – when a rather green-looking Natasha brought Svetlana over two days early because Steve’s horrendous retching was making the little girl cry.

But they made it through just fine. It was oddly _easy_ , in fact… easier than he ever expected it to be. Caring for one another. _Wanting_ to care for one another. It had been too damn easy.

If he were to be completely, unabashedly honest, Bucky would have to admit that this degree of ease… of comfort and simplicity – because that’s really what it is, isn’t it? Just a bizarrely uncomplicated, effortless sensation? – was not something he’d ever had with any other woman before. Even with Nat – whom he’d loved long before Lana came along, though admittedly not in the _way_ that allowed two people to forge a life together – it had never been easy. She was strong and independent and wholly her own person. Her strength reeled him in and turned him on. But it also terrified him. Still does. Showing any vulnerability in front of Natasha Romanov – despite her telling him _repeatedly_ that she can see right through his cocky façade – is not a thing he has ever been willing or able to do.

And with other woman too, he’s only ever allowed a certain side of himself – or perhaps a select few sides – to be glimpsed. More often than not, he’s shown them the charming, self-assured smile, imbued every movement, every word with the seemingly subtle confidence that he could _see_ turned them to mush. But never, that he can recall, had he shared with them his struggles. No, instead he’d wear that charm like armor, a beguiling indifference that got him laid while still keeping his heart safe. And after Lana was born, once he realized his heart had become even more precious – more full and seemingly fragile now that his baby girl lay inside – an utter air of detachment was added on as an extra, thicker layer of protection.

He’d tell women about himself – what he did for a living, where he grew up. He’d share with them that he loved cars, loved screwball comedies, loved his daughter more life itself. He’d let them into his home and his bed. But his heart – and most of what made him truly _him_ – was simply off limits.

He never really realized how much of his time was spent walking on eggshells around the women in his life, cautiously selecting which pieces of information to reveal, which parts of himself – if any – to lay bare. He’d never realized quite how _hard_ it had been to be himself… to be _real_ and genuine and – God help him – vulnerable with women.

Until Annie came along and made things so damn easy.

000

The music is surprisingly… intense. For a wedding reception, at least. The not-so-subtle beats of AC/DC and Metallica permeating the air for a good hour or so before slowly tapering off into some more _appropriate_ rock ballads. “Tony got to choose the tunes for the cocktail hour,” Annie whispers to him with a smirk. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

But for Bucky, the predetermined cocktail hour expands well into the post-dinner lull, his general wariness of large crowds and unease with small talk driving him to keep his hands and lips busy with drinks for as long as humanly possible. He gets it down to a science… sip easily at the watered-down drink in his hand to keep from having to say more than a few words to any of Annie’s overeager – borderline neurotic – coworkers. Then slip back over to the bar, taking his sweet-ass time to get a refill.

He’s on his fifth lap now, taking a break to sit at the far corner of the open bar. He watches from afar – head ducked, fleeting smile stifled – as Annie laughs and talks and mingles with a handful of work friends, her kind eyes ticking his way every few moments in quiet – _easy_ – reassurance. And with each tender glance he feels a new wave of adoration wash over him, a steadily undulating current that both buoys him and threatens to drown him in the depths.

“You’re drinking the cheap shit,” he hears from over his shoulder. His hand grips the crystal tumbler of bourbon a little tighter as he slowly spins on the stool, raising a brow at the suspiciously unaccompanied center of attention. Tony ticks his chin toward his glass before calling the bartender over and saying simply, “Break out the _Pappy Van Winkle_.”

“The _what_?” Bucky asks, his eyes following the bartender’s cautious steps as he makes his way around to the back of the bar, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder as he goes.

Tony rolls his eyes and lets out a small grunt before dropping into the seat beside him. “Stupid name, wholeheartedly agree.” He tugs at his bowtie, unfurling it in one quick swipe and flinging it down atop the mahogany bar. “But it’s the best. Or…” he shrugs. “One of the best. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow – not unkindly, but certainly suspiciously – as he watches the bartender return with two tumblers and a bottle that his fingers curl around as though it were the freaking holy grail. “Shouldn’t you be out there mingling with all your high-society guests?” he asks once they’re left alone with their drinks.

Tony raises his glass, holding it high with an expectant sort of impatience. “C’mon,” he mutters fitfully. “I just married the love of my life. Toast me.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up into an amused grin, a quick snort of a chuckle spilling out as he brings the bourbon up and clinks Tony’s glass. “Congratulations,” he deadpans, the smallest gleam in his eye revealing the depth of his sincerity.

“Thank you.” Tony pulls back and sips at his drink, a look of pure _comfort_ spilling across his face as his Adam’s apple bobs.

Bucky brings the bourbon to his lips – slowly, cautiously – and lets the amber liquid slide inside, coating his tongue, his throat, his _soul_ in the most delicious burn possible. “Damn,” he breathes out, staring wide-eyed at the drink in his hand. A delicate trace lingers as he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, head shaking slowly. “ _Damn_.”

Tony chuckles under his breath. “Probably shouldn’t have introduced you to good ole _Pappy_ ,” he declares. “Like sending someone who’s only ever flown coach across the ocean on a private jet.”

“I’d settle for business class,” he smarts with a frown.

Tony nods, another small chortle spilling out of him. He takes another sip and cheats out on his stool, gazing across the large dancefloor in front of them until his eyes light on the tall strawberry blonde, dripping with white silk, a glass of champagne in her left hand that sets a sparkling backdrop for the platinum band clinking delicately against it. “Nah,” he mutters, grin growing as he watches his new wife throw her head back in a carefree, delightful bout of laughter. “Why settle when you can have the best?”

Bucky’s shoulders pull into a quick shrug, his gaze sweeping out to find the object of Tony’s attention before returning to settle on the drink in his hand. “Not everyone can afford the best,” he mutters a bit under his breath.

Tony turns to him with a disappointed glare. “You do realize I’m not actually talking about bourbon, right?” He lets out a long, exasperated sigh and settles in, placing his glass on the bar and leaning close to the man beside him. “She’s ruined you, hasn’t she? Annie,” he clarifies when Bucky’s brows curl in confusion. “Can’t go back to the cheap shit after getting a taste of her. Am I right?”

Something akin to a growl pulls from his chest, his jaw ticking tightly to the side. “Don’t talk about _tasting_ my girlfriend.”

And Tony just laughs. Loudly. Haughtily. Slapping Bucky on the shoulder as he goes. “Relax, will ya?” he chokes out before swallowing down the snickers. He shakes his head with a fond sort of amusement. “Metaphor, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, hint of agitation still in his voice as he brings the glass back to his lips and lets the liquor wash away the remnants of his irritation.

“I was watching you before,” he states simply, mirthful eyes still trained on the rather uncomfortable looking man before him. “The way you look at her, eyes following her around like a little puppy dog.”

Bucky’s lips press tightly together into a small snarl.

“I’m a genius, you know,” he lets out vapidly before giving a quick shrug and reaching up to pop open the top button of his starched, white collar. “Doesn’t take a genius to see what I saw, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky bites out, perhaps a bit harsher than intended. “What’s that?”

A smug smile, a stifled laugh, a short, incredulous snort… that’s all the answer he really needs. But Tony says it anyway, never one to pass up the opportunity to be heard. “You’re smitten. Intoxicated. You’ve had the _Pappy_ and – you’ve gotta admit – nothing’s been sweeter, smoother… easier going down.”

He flashes him a stunned look, his stare reflecting something between confusion and accusation. And his lips part, jaw popping open to emit nothing but dumbfounded silence.

“Love’s a good thing,” Tony tells him, his voice light and airy, flitting atop a soft laugh. “ _Annie_ is a damn good… thing,” he finishes, frown forming as he realizes what he said. But he shakes it off, a look of _you know what I mean_ flashing Bucky’s way. “She tell you about the promotion?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone.

Bucky sputters a bit, the swift change in topic causing him to reel. “Uh,” he thinks. _Promotion… promotion._ “Yeah,” he utters finally, once his brain catches up. “Yeah. Something about… operations…” He shakes his head. “Or operational… something.”

Another snort of a laugh. “Operations manager for our new Innovative Tech Division.” He shakes his head with an almost annoyed air. “Up and comers are the _worst_. They all think they’re the hottest shit, each of their ideas the most… _innovative_. I find them… exhausting.” He narrows his eyes pensively. “Actually I find them to be the most irritating little shits on the planet.” He issues out a quick scoff and downs the rest of his drink before returning his gaze to Bucky. “Annie says they’re too much like _me_ and that’s why I hate them. But I don’t buy that. I _love_ me.” He shrugs. “Anyway… figured she could go unleash some of that _insight_ on them. Help them all get their shit together and function like a team. Or, hell, I’d settle for just _function_.”

Bucky lets out a soft snicker, crooked smile blooming. “Want her to clean up more of your messes,” he muses thickly, taking another pull of bourbon.

Tony flattens him with an uncharacteristically serious stare. “It’s what makes us a good team.” He turns on his stool to bodily face the man before him, brows knitting tightly as a contemplative expression washes over his face. “I can only function in a world tempered with chaos… need it to be able to find the answers that just _swirl around_ in the air. I make messes. It’s part of my process. Annie, she likes to… clean things up. Organize them. Fix them. She’s good at it too.”

Bucky’s lips pinch tightly together, his head slowly bobbing in a pensive nod as a sudden swell of doubt rises in his gut. “She likes _order_ ,” he says, almost to himself.

“Nah,” Tony mutters. “She just knows that sometimes order is what you need to make things more… palatable for others.” Bucky’s brows twist tightly together, utter befuddlement tugging at his features. Tony stifles a laugh as he catches the look. “What she _likes_ is the mess. Because it gives her something to fix. She likes the _challenge_.”

“The challenge,” he repeats, his shoulders deflating, head drooping. “Great. Just what every guy wants to hear… I’m a challenge to be around,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Give her some credit,” Tony mutters drolly, pulling Bucky from his haze. “If she didn’t want to be challenged, she’d shack up with one of the boring-ass _intellectuals_ down in accounting. Lord knows enough of them have tried. She saw your ramshackle little garage, saw you racing all over the place to fix things…”

“My garage isn’t _ramshackle_ ,” he interrupts with a frown.

“Every time I went in there the place was overbooked, you had some new project going on – ”

“ _You_ brought me those projects,” he defends a bit heatedly.

Tony merely shrugs. “Tools and grease everywhere,” he goes on. “A business partner who comes and goes as he pleases. Some _teenager_ trying not to break shit in the back…”

“Hey, Peter’s a good kid.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard.” He stares Bucky down, his deep brown eyes holding a steely edge. “Barnes, I have heard _everything_ about you. About how great you are with early model fuel-injection systems. How generous your are with your regulars… working out financing and payment plans and other nonsense that’s just gonna land you in the poorhouse. How patient you are with working around other people’s schedules. How _wonderful_ you are with your kid,” he finishes with another overdone roll of his eyes. “Yeah, you got a little bit of chaos surrounding you,” he goes on with a tender note. “And she _likes_ that.”

“You’re saying she likes me because my life’s a mess,” he mutters, only a hint of a question to his voice. “She wants something to fix.”

“Your skull really that thick?” he asks with a raised brow. “I know you’re not a genius like _some people_ …” Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts, both actions being completely ignored by Tony as he goes on to say, “You fix cars. She fixes people. You clean up after a kid. She cleans up after me. You hold together a complicated little family unit, work to make it, well, _work_. She’s about to do the same with a group of arrogant young prodigies. She’s not trying to fix you. She’s not looking to be challenged _by_ you. Barnes, you idiot… she wants to be challenged _with_ you.”

000

As the party slows, the night growing long and stretching out towards its inevitable end, Bucky finally leaves the bar and returns to their table. The other Stark Industries’ workers that had been surrounding them before, smothering Bucky with their enthusiastic welcomes and long-winded inside jokes that drove him to the silent corner of the bar to begin with, had all filtered off to either take over the dancefloor or simply retire for the night. It’s only Annie now, a vision in pale pink, the loose curls around her face coiling tightly at her temples due the unseasonable humidity. She rests heavily in her seat at the empty table, head propped on her fist as her eyes trail along the smaller – yet still substantial – crowd before her. The sweetest smile rests on her lips as she placidly watches people dance, laugh, talk, and just _be_.

Bucky flops down in the chair beside her, scooting a plate piled high with two different types of cake and a heaping scoop of fruit covered in chocolate sauce – because apparently there had been a chocolate fountain sitting at yet another dessert buffet on the opposite side of the room all night – over between them. Her smile grows into an excited, toothy grin as she accepts the proffered fork and stabs through the mountain of sugar, trying to capture all of the sweet treats into a single bite.

“Finally get tired of keeping yourself sequestered?” she asks just before popping the fruit-laden cake into her mouth.

He lets out a small chuckle and spears a chocolatey strawberry with his own fork. “Kinda backfired on me,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue around some of the dripping chocolate. “Your boss found me.”

She laughs indelicately, almost snorting around the massive bite of dessert as she chews and effortfully swallows it down. “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “I saw.” Her fork returns for another serving, playfully batting his away to get at a plump blueberry sitting atop a mass of vanilla buttercream. “Could’ve been worse. Gary from accounting found his way over here.” Her head drops dramatically back, a mocking – and _loud_ – snore pulling from somewhere deep in her chest alongside a theatrical moan. “Sooooo boring.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, his wide smile settling into something fond and familiar as he watches her sigh and slouch forward and focus once again on the dessert, taking another too-large bite and leaving a smear of frosting along the corner of her mouth. “You tired?” he asks, reaching down and plucking a naked raspberry from the pile, raising it up to swipe along her lip, using it to clean her mess before he pops it into his mouth with a wink.

She cocks her head at him and grins, eyes crinkling at the edges as she finishes chewing. He reaches out with his thumb to clear off the remnants of icing and chocolate pocking her bottom lip, and she lets her eyes blink slowly shut, head drooping a bit once she swallows. Bucky unfurls his hand, palm opening to easily accept her flushed cheek as she nuzzles into him. “Is that a pickup line?” she asks, leaning over the edge of her seat, gradually fading into his warmth. “You want to _put me to bed_?”

He laughs – the sound light and airy and wonderfully melodic to her ears – and scoots his chair closer, wraps an arm around her and tugs her casually to his chest. “Maybe.”

Her eyes flit open and take in the twinkling fairy lights above, each tiny, haloed bulb melding masterfully in with the night sky. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Buck,” she murmurs languidly as her head rolls back along his shoulder.

He lays a chaste kiss atop her head and pulls her a little closer with his left arm, his right hand still absently stabbing at fruit with his fork. “Any time, doll.”

She shifts beside him, turns her head just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of his face. Her eyes shine with something akin to mischief as she says, “I have a friend who’s getting married in December. We went to high school together so _everyone_ I grew up with will be there.” Her eyebrows wiggle almost maniacally, the look equal parts terrifying and endearing.

“Great,” he deadpans, swallowing down a chortle. Then, “Ah, you know what?” oozes out of him in an easy cadence. “Yeah, I think I have Lana that night. Probably can’t make it.”

“I didn’t tell you the date,” she says, blank face just barely cracking as a sneaky smile threatens to tug at her lips.

“Yeah, well,” he breathes out. “I’m a busy guy, you know.”

She scoots a bit closer, her hip splitting his knees apart as she settles in and wraps her arms around his center. “You’re not _that_ busy,” she intones, dropping her face to his chest and letting out a small yawn. “Or did you forget that I updated your calendar myself?”

No, he hadn’t forgotten. He actually – silently – thanks her daily. Every time he gets an alert on his phone… a reminder about swim lessons, soccer practice, a change of days with Lana. Or a notification – complete with embedded heart emoji – telling him exactly where to be and at what time for their date that evening. She had – now that he thinks about it – somehow managed to already calm the inherent chaos in his life, easing the strain of the everyday.

“Hm,” he hums out casually as his fingers weave into her hair. “You know, I’m pretty sure that calendar told me just the other day that Lana’s starting gymnastics next month…”

She pops up excitedly, coming to life in his arms as she presses her palms into his chest and pushes off of him. “I know!” she enthuses, turning a beaming smile his way. “I’m so excited for her!”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, soft chuckle spilling forth. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” he mutters cheerily, all the while shoving down the butterflies that so often burst to life in his gut when she’s around. _She’s excited for my baby_ , he thinks, grin growing wider from just that one thought. “But I was trying to point out that I’m sure I’ll be way too busy for any more weddings.”

Her bottom lip pushes out into a pout, pensive look tugging at her features as her eyes narrow. “Nah,” she says after a moment of seeming contemplation. “We’ll make it work.”

“Oh, we will?” he questions amid a laugh.

She drops back into him, her head colliding with his collarbone and causing a harsh grunt to sound, cutting off his laughter. “Of course we will,” she mumbles into his chest, the sound of her voice muffled but the _feel_ of it edging into him, vibrating through his chest and colliding with his heart.

He squeezes her a little bit tighter, his fingers trailing softly along the bare skin of her neck, swiping down over her shoulder in a delicate trace. He drops his lips to her hair once more, breathes in the now familiar scent of coconut shampoo… smiles when he gets a swift hit of Lana’s lavender detangler too. 

“I think,” he breathes out, low voice slowing trailing off. She curls deeper into him and gives a small hum by way of encouragement. But he doesn’t go on, can’t quite form the sudden, overwhelming thought into a coherent sentence. He releases a long, hot breath into her hair, the statement that had only just cracked forth and dropped through a chink somewhere in his armor now lodging in his throat.

_I love you_.

She pulls back and gives him a curious, almost worried look. “You want to go home?” she asks, her voice soft, achingly tender.

He offers a fond, closed-lip smile before tugging her back to his chest, nuzzling her close, and tucking her head beneath his chin. _I love you_. The words are now tickling the very tip of his tongue, smacking ceaselessly atop the roof of his mouth. _I love you._

But… not yet. Not here. “Home,” he muses serenely, hums softly into her hair. A deep sigh spills from his lips, and along with it – carrying a note of practiced ease – he utters plainly, “Yeah, doll. Why not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I had a great time with these characters - particularly Lana, if I'm being honest - and I hope you did too!


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